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The  Analysis  of  Play  Construction 
and  Dramatic  Principle 


BY 


W.  T.  PRICE 


AUTHOR  OF  "THE  TECHNIQUE  OF 
THE  DRAMA" 


W.  T.  PRICE,  PUBLISHER 

1440  BROADWAY 
NEW  YORK 


^    OF  THE 


UNIVERSITY    ) 


n^  c  o 


Copyright,  1908,  W.  T.  Prick. 


'    -1 


^L 

<" 


pf4C 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Delusion  About  Dramatic  Instinct i 

CHAPTER  II. 
Analysis  9 

CHAPTER  III. 
The  Method  to  be  Pursued 16 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Theme 19 

^^ 

^                                                 CHAPTERCY:  ,^ 

-1^.      The  Material r 26"*? 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Conditions  Precedent 33 

CHAPTER  VII. 
The  Proposition 50 


CHAPTER 


^ 


4   The  Plot > 64    l3 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  Diviiion  into  Acts 78 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Division  into  Scenes 86 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Scenario 121 


^                                                  CHAPTER  ^E 
^  The  Action  of  a  Play 123   tl\ 

^                                               CHAPTER  (^rai 
-t^  Unity 146   10 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Sequence 156 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Cause  and  Effect 171 

CHAPTER  %V\ 


o  

7v  Action  (Drama)  is  not  Mere  Life  182 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
-^  Action  (Drama)  is  not  Story  193 


,iv 


IV  CONTKNTS 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
•f    Action  (Drama)  is  not  Mere  Business 206 

chapter{xix) 

^    Action  (Drama)  is  not  Primarily  a  Matffe*-of  Words 220  VL  H, 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Indirection  is  the  Dramatic  Method,  the  Opposite  of  Story  Telling. .  232 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Objectivity — The  Visual 246 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Unexpected 259 

CHAPTER  XXm. 
Preparation 282 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Action  (Drama)  Must  be  Self-explanatory,  Self-developing  and  Self- 
progressive 294 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Compulsion 309 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Facts 321 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
The  Necessary  and  the  Unnecessary j-. 328 

O                                                CHAPTER(XXVml 
X^  Character >rrr<r:. ..,.,... 335    ^ 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
Dialogue,  Monologues  and  Asides 343 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Entrances  and  Exits 363 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Episode 381 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
Scenery 390 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
Detail ;  Circumstantiality 396 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
The  Condescending  Fallacy  that  only  the  Rudiments  can  be  Taught  408 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
Systematic  Study 412 


\ 


PREFACE. 

After  the  publication  of  my  "Technique  of  the  Drama,"  rf  0 
sixteen  years  agOj  and  while  I  was  acting  as  playreader  for 
the  then  leading  manager  in  New  York,  I  was  constantly 
besought  by  people  for  advice  on  their  plays.  I  found  that 
nothing  could  be  done  with  the  individual  who,  although  he 
had  read  everything  ever  written  on  the  subject,  knew  no- 
thing of  the  art  of  playwriting.  It  required  the  expenditure 
of  too  much  vital  energy  to  combat  his  self-confident  ignor- 
ance. It  was  the  bottomless  pit.  T  discovered  that  this 
ignorance  was  not  altogether  his  fault,  for  no  book,  my  own 
included,  had  ever  been  published  in  any  language  that  was 
adequate  for  the  practical  requirements  of  the  workshop. 
Such  books  as  had  been  published  were  useful  as  an  intro- 
duction to  the  study,  and  they  are  still  absolutely  essential 
to  the  student,  but  something  more  is  required.  It  also  be- 
came plain  to  me  that  the  art  was  too  large  to  be  compassed 
by  a  single  volume  or  by  any  one  method  of  investigation  or 
instruction.  It  is  not  to  the  purpose  now  to  enquire  into 
the  reasons  why  no  dramatist  has  ever  attempted  to  provide 
these  needed  text  books  for  the  student,  supplying  him 
with  the  tools  of  the  workshop  and  not  books  of  literary 
style  addressed  to  posterity,  with  the  quick  delivery  stamp 
on  them  of  an  endowed  college  professor.  It  was  also  plain 
to  me  that  the  whole  subject  required  a  new  investigation 
and  restudy  conducted  on  an  entirely  independent  initiative. 
It  was  not  possible  to  meet  the  demand  by  a  compilation. 
The  process  of  the  amateur's  mind  had  to  be  considered, 
that  process  which  is  entirely  natural  to  the  mind  ignorant 
of  dramatic  law  in  all  directions.  I  am  free  to  say  that  I 
have  learned  more  on  that  line  of  investigation  than  on  any 
other.  It  has  been  to  my  profit,  and  I  hope  to  that  of  the 
student,  that  I  have  read  and  analyzed  thousands  of  plays 
by  amateurs.  The  study  of  false  dramatic  syntax  will  be  an 
important  element  in  our  work  together.    This  volume  con- 


VI  PREFACE 

cerns  Analysis  only.  In  another  section  of  our  study  I  shall 
trace  dramatic  law  back  to  nature  and  the  constitution  of 
the  human  mind,  thereby  proving  to  you  that  the  form  is 
not  purely  artificial  and  that  true  plays  are  not  written  by 
"rules;"  and  then  step  by  step  we  shall  do  all  that  is  re- 
quired of  the  craftsman  to  gain  his  art.  My  sole  and  con- 
stant aim  is  to  be  of  service  to  the  student  by  formulating 
the  art  in  the  most  practical  way  and  by  not  writing  a  sin- 
gle line  for  the  mere  sake  of  writing. 

W.  T.  PRICE. 
New  York,  June,  1908. 


u^?^ 


') 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  DELUSION  ABOUT  DRAMATIC  INSTINCT. 

Reserving  for  another  chapter  the  vivisection  and  the 
complete  demolition  in  every  honest  mind,  I  believe,  of  the 
absurd  and  monstrous  idea  that  a  playwright  is  or  can  be 
or  ever  was  or  ever  will  be  born,  I  wish  now  to  urge  upon 
you  the  practical  dangers  of  any  belief  on  your  part  that 
you  have  any  dramatic  instinct  as  something  apart  from 
a  knowledge  of  dramatic  principle  that  must  be  gained.  If 
3^ou  hug  and  caress  this  delusion  your  progress  will  be  de- 
layed and  the  day  of  your  success  will  be  remote.  Your 
mind  will  not  be  open.  You  will  not  accept  the  authority 
of  Technique  and  you  will  be  constantly  assuming  that  you 
fully  understand  something  of  which  you  really  see  only 
the  surface.  You  will  be  constantly  saying  that  you  "knew 
all  that  before,"  when  it  is  something  about  which  you 
know  the  least.  I  am  not  trying  to  establish  any  personal 
authority  over  you  by  these  statements,  but  I  have  a  jeal- 
ous regard  and  a  profound  respect  for  an  Art  whose  author- 
ity cannot  be  denied  by  any  one  without  his  loss  of  my 
respect.  I  am  speaking  plainly  and  in  the  first  person,  for 
my  feeling  on  the  subject  proceeds  from  a  large  experience 
with  people  of  this  recalcitrant  mind.  If  one  begins  this 
study  with  the  idea  that  he  has  a  dramatic  instinct  superior 
to  fixed  law,  he  begins  as  a  fool  and  usually  ends  as  a  fool ; 
or,  he  loses  years  in  self-complacent  vanity  before  he  yields 
to  the  authority  of  the  Art.  I  think  I  shall  conclusively 
demonstrate  that  the  idea  that  one  can  be  born  a  play- 
wright is  a  monstrous  lie  and  fraught  with  evil.  If  one 
personally  believes  it  of  himself  he  is  suffering  from  a  forrni 
of  insanity.  It  is  an  evil  lie,  for  all  lies  are  evil.  It  makes 
vanity  a  loathesome  appanage  of  a  professional  career.  If 
you  have  the  dramatic  instinct  in  the  misleading  and  dan- 
I 


2  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E: 

gerous  sense  that  I  describe,  why  are  you  seeking  further 
knowledge?  Instinct  does  not  have  to  be  taught.  If 
you  have  any  instinct  about  the  stage  it  is  something  that 
you  have  acquired  by  reading  or  seeing  or  hearing  or  ob- 
servation of  your  own  initiative.  It  takes  years  to  gain 
this  "instinct"  and  even  then  it  may  be  imperfect  instinct. 
The  inherent  characteristic  of  every  Art  is  that  it  re- 
duces its  principles  to  terms,  and  if  you  do  not  understand 
those  terms  and  the  full  meaning  of  each  principle  in  all  its 
aspects  you  are  not  an  artist.  You  would  not  be  able  to 
discuss  intelligently  or  intelligibly  any  given  scientific  sub- 
ject with  the  professional  scientist.  He  would  not  under- 
stand you  and  you  would  not  understand  him  at  all.  He 
talks  in  shorthand,  you  would  be  talking  ^bberish.  You 
may  occasionally  see  in  the  depths  of  night  a  gang  of  work- 
men making  some  repairs  of  an  electrical  trolley  way.  Great 
gasoline  lamps  flare  up  with  a  constant  roar  and  throw  a 
lurid  light  against  the  darkness  and  giving  picturesqueness 
to  the  busy  laborers.  Here  and  there  flames  from  a  blow- 
pipe are  shot  against  the  joints  of  the  rails.  A  superintend- 
ent is  standing  perhaps  on  the  sidewalk.  Address  him  and 
ask  him  what  they  are  doing.  My  own  personal  experience 
in  this  particular  matter  was  brief.  The  courteous  reply 
of  the  superintendent  was,  "Do  you  know  anything  about 
electricity?"  "No."  "Then,  I  am  sorry,  I  cannot  explain 
it  to  you."  In  every  Art  everything,  not  one  or  two  things, 
has  a  definite  meaning.  You  would  not  think  much  of  a 
mathematician  who  could  not  define  a  straight  line,  would 
you?  He  might  have  that  idea  of  a  straight  line  which 
perhaps  every  human  being  has,  but  if  he  could  not  define 
it,  stripped  of  all  manner  of  verbiage,  and  in  its  one  scien- 
tific expression,  he  would  not  be  a  mathematician  at  all. 
It  is  not  enough  merely  to  know  the  terms  themiselves.  One 
hears  many  people  who  have  tinkered  at  the  study  of  the 
drama  and  who  think  they  know  something  of  the  Art 
constantly  using  terms  without  knowing  what  they  mean. 
They  talk  about  Unity  with  the  perfect  assurance  that  it 


THE  DEIvUSION  ABOUT  DRAMATIC  INSTINCT  3 

is  absolutely  clear  to  them  and  in  the  practical  application 
of  it  they  may  be  invariably  wide  of  the  mark.  They  speaks 
of  their  plays  as  being  full  of  Action  when,  in  fact,  there 
may  be  an  utter  absence  of  Action  in  them.  They  talk  of 
Plot  and  have  not  the  slightest  idea  of  the  definite  and  in- 
evitable requirements  of  a  Plot.  In  order  to  become  a 
master  of  this  Art  one  must  rid  himself  of  generalities. 

It  is  very  easy  to  be  misled  as  to  one's  own  knowledge  of 
the  Art  of  Playwriting.  I  was  told  by  a  dramatist  of  the 
highest  distinction  that  it  was  only  after  the  production 
of  his  fourth  play  that  he  realized  the  exacting  nature  of 
the  Art  and  saw  that  there  were  one  or  two  principles  the 
extent  and  use  of  which  he  had  had  little  or  no  conception 
As  a  play  reader  for  managers  I  have  been  in  a  posi- 
tion for  a  score  of  years  and  more  to  note  the  beginning 
and  progress  of  practically  all  the  dramatic  authors  who 
have  succeeded  in  that  time.  In  most  cases,  the  first  manu- 
scripts submitted  by  these  authors  revealed  little  or  no  dra- 
matic instinct.  There  may  have  been  abundant  ability, 
there  may  have  been  very  apt  portrayal  of  character  and 
scenes  worked  out  with  more  or  less  effectiveness,  but  an 
all  embracing  Technique  was  invariably  lacking.  They 
have  since  learned  the  Art,  and  every  honest  dramatist 
among  them  will  tell  you  that  his  experience  began  in 
comparative  ignorance  accomjpanied  by  self-confidence.  If 
the  Art  is  lacking  and  everything  in  a  play,  as  a  play,  is 
wrong,  what  kind  of  instinct  is  that  which  instinctively 
does  things  wrong?  If  you  have  any  idea  that  you  have 
dramatic  instinct  and  that  it  was  born  in  you,  get  rid  of  it. 
I  have  a  contempt  that  I  cannot  begin  to  express,  although 
my  vocabulary  is  not  altogether  meagre,  for  people  who 
claim  to  have  been  born  with  a  knowledge  of  any  Art.  Art 
is  a  human  thing.  It  has  to  be  acquired.  I  would  like  to 
take  hold  of  these  people  and  have  them  do  the  exercise 
work  required  to  bring  them  to  their  senses.  Many  of  them 
think  that  analytical  work  is  not  necessary  or  that  their 
minds  are  so  constituted  that  they  are  not  analytical  but 


4  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

what  they  call  "creative."  Get  that  out  of  j'our  head.  In 
playwriting,  at  least,  there  is  no  distinction  between  these 
qualities.  You  must  be  analytical  or  you  will  never  write 
plays  with  any  professional  firmness  of  touch.  (The  diffi- 
culty of  enforcing  analytical  exercise  work,  however,  I 
have  found  to  be  so  great  that  I  require  it  only  in  the 
answers  to  the  Question  Sheetsy  Of  course  an  infinite  and 
serviceable  amount  of  analytical  work  may  be  done  in  the 
analytical  study  of  plays  without  committing  the  results  to 
paper,  but  the  habit  of  analytical  thought  should  be  gained. 
I  do  not  recognize  aptitude  except  as  it  comes  from  knowl- 
edge, experience  and  training.  You  may  have  an  ad-aptitude, 
but  aptitude  means  skill.  If  one  has  been  reared  on  or 
about  the  stage  he  may  acquire  it  unconsciously,  but  this 
aptitude  comes  from  having  learned  the  Art  in  one  way 
or  another.  Learning  it  primarily  from  the  stage  itself  has 
its  dangers,  which  will  be  explained  later.  It  is  easy 
enough  to  learn  the  Art  superficially,  but  this  is  an  Art 
that  one  must  master  completely  if  he  has  any  self-respect 
or  hopes  for  a  career  uninterrupted  by  deficiencies. 

Those  people  who  think  they  have  genius,  and  imagine 
that  man  is  everything,  are  misguided  egotists.  They  ig- 
nore, or  pretend  to  ignore,  the  existence  of  Technique,  or 
they  may  contend  that  technique  is  an  indefinable  thing  and 
personal  and  private  property.  They  even  think  that  they 
have  created  Material.  They  are  all  wrong.  Technique  is 
what  shapes  the  Material.  The  three  elements,  the 
Man,  the  Material,  the  Technique,  exist  with  abso- 
lute distinctness,  and  each  gets  its  value  when  the  three 
are  put  together  in  combination.  They  must  fuse  as  chemi- 
cal elements  do  in  creating  a  new  substance.  As  a  practi- 
cal matter  in  playwriting,  they  are  not  only  dependent  the 
one  upon  the  other,  but  the  one  helps  the  other.  Technique 
suggests  new  material  and  stimulates  the  imagination. 
One  man  uses  his  technique  better  than  another.  Iiidi- 
vidual  qualities  are  never  absent.  Everything  is  co-opera- 
tive. 


THE  DELUSION  ABOUT  DRAMATIC  INSTINCT  5 

The  art  of  playwriting,  Technique  and  the  Material 
for  plays,  are  as  absolutely  distinct  from  you  as  are  the  sci-__ 
ence  and  the  substances  of  chemistry.  Do  you  think  you 
could  be  a  born  chemist?  It  \YOuld  take  you  three  years  of 
hard  study  in  some  laboratory  under  chemists  who  labor 
to  give  you  instruction  for  you  to  acquire  sufficient  know- 
ledge to  obtain  a  certificate  of  your  proficiency.  The  State 
requires  this  certificate  and  does  not  permit  born  chemists 
to  deal  out  death  at  their  indiscretion  and  with  their  ignor- 
ance in  the  prescription  departments  of  a  chemical  estab- 
lishment. The  text  books  of  the  science  are  enormous  in 
volume.  New  discoveries  are  being  made  constantly.  How 
could  you  be  born  to  a  knowledge  of  something  not  yet  dis- 
covered? By  what  biological  process  could  you  be  a  born 
chemist? 

Comparisons  are  not  always  conclusive,  but  it  is 
absolutely  certain  that  you  can  no  more  be  a  born  play- 
wright than  you  can  be  born  a  chemist.  I  want  to  demol- 
ish this  preposterous  and,  as  I  call  it,  and  believe  it  to  be, 
soul  destroying  idea  for  all  time,  and  to  attack  it  in  as  many 
different  directions  as  possible.  The  point  in  this  attack  is 
to  urge  the  distinction  between  the  Man,  the  Material  and 
the  Technique.  It  alone  should  be  conclusive.  Of  course, 
the  Material  that  we  have  to  do  with  in  playwriting  is  appa- 
rently not  so  recondite  as  in  chemistry  and  would  seem  to 
be  something  of  universal  experience  and  apprehension. 
Nevertheless  it  is  something  apart  from  the  individual. 
This  Material  cannot  be  classified  with  the  same  complete- 
ness and  minuteness  as  chemical  substances  are.  Never- 
theless the  emotions  that  you  represent  must  have  been  ex- 
perienced by  others  than  yourself,  and  you  cannot  attribute 
to  them  that  which  is  impossible  for  them  to  have  felt.  You 
cannot  create  any  Material  in  a  real  play  in  the  sense  of 
making  it  different  from  nature.  New  combinations  only 
can  be  formed,  and  this  depends  upon  the  man  in  consulta- 
tion with  his  Technique.  Naturally  one  experiences  satis- 
faction in  and  assumes  credit  for  all  the  niceties  of  spirit 


6  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE. 

and  of  form  that  he  gives  his  Material;  but  it  is  easy 
enough  for  him  to  attach  too  much  importance  to  him- 
se}S<l7et  us  take  the  first  example  that  occurs  to  us, 
"Browning's  "Blot  on  the  'Scutcheon."  Browning  is  lauded 
as  one  of  the  greatest  poetic  or  creative  minds  that  ever  exist- 
ed. The  man  undoubtedly  had  a  great  scope  of  mind  and 
was  an  uncommon  word  monger,  but  how  much  of  the  ma- 
terial of  ''The  Blot  on  the  'Scutcheon"  did  he  create?  Is  it 
not  a  familiar  and,  in  a  sense,  common-place  bit  of  material 
out  of  literary  ultra-romanticism,  grounded,  of  course,  in 
the  possibilities_o£4ii£>^ 

Tlie^Slaterial  may  be  so  potential  or  actual  in  its  relations 
to  Technique  or  form  that  the  play  may  write  itself  without 
any  material  indebtedness  to  the  dramatist.  How  false  and 
absurd  the  claim  of  dramatic  instinct  in  a  case  of  this  sort 
is  demonstrated  by  a  very  common  result,  the  dramatist  is 
never  heard  of  again.  He  doesn't  understand  the  art  of 
playwriting,  never  succeeds  in  writing  another  play,  and  his 
subsequent  manuscripts  afford  amazed  amusement  in  the 
offices  of  managers.  Can  you  doubt  the  independent  exist- 
ence of  the  three  elements  described  when  you  consider  Sir 
Walter  Scott  and  Dickens?  These  two  novelists,  the  great- 
est so  far  in  English  literature,  in  their  respective  fields,  pos- 
sessed more  "dramatic  instinct"  than  an  infinite  number  of 
successful  and  even  famous  dramatists  of  many  countries 
put  together,  but  they  worked  with  different  tools  from 
those  of  the  dramatists.  Their  processes  of  thought  were 
different.  The  form  was  different,  and  therein  lies  the 
whole  matter.  Form  implies  a  particular  Technique.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  was  observant  of  the  drama  and  wrote  a  good 
deal  about  it,  but  he  certainly  was  not  a  dramatist,  and  his 
practical  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  the  stage  was  slight.  It 
is  not  at  all  improbable  that  he  could  have  become  a  drama- 
tist. Dickens  was  very  close  to  the  stage,  one  of  the  most 
intimate  friends  of  Macready,  constantly  behind  the  scenes, 
was  an  excellent  amateur  actor  and  wrote  a  number  of 
small  plays,  but  he  did  not  cultivate  the  form.  Neither  Scott 


the:  DEI.USION  ABOUT  DRAMATIC  INSTINCT  7 

nor  Dickens  took  the  trouble  to  get  at  the  details  of  the 
workshop.  If  the  "dramatic  instinct"  of  these  men  was  not 
sufficient  to  enable  them  to  write  plays  of  the  highest  dis^ 
tinctive  quality  by  what  chance  is  it  that  you  have  been 
born  with  a  "dramatic  instinct"  that  is  equivalent  to  a  com- 
plete Technique? 

If  by  the  possession  of  dramatic  instinct  you  mean  that 
you  have  an  innate  knowledge  of  all  that  Aristotle  commu- 
nicated to  the  world,  of  all  that  has  been  written  upon  the 
subject  (a  considerable  part  of  which,  however,  is  compila- 
tion of  an  uninformed  kind),  of  all  that  the  experienced  and 
trained  dramatist  knows,  you  have  a  pitiful  misconception 
of  your  own  relation  to  the  world  and  to  human  thought. 
If  you  confidently  believe  that  you  instinctively  know  all 
that  some  student  may  have  gained  in  the  toil  of  a  well 
planned  and  essential  obscurity,  of  privation,  in  the  pursuit 
of  elemental  truths,  you  can  take  a  little  time  for  reflection 
and  then  apply  to  yourself  that  epitjiet  which  no  one  word 
in  the  English  language  can  supply  and  which  perhaps  you 
may  find  in  Esperanto,  a  combination  of  all  languages.  "In- 
stinct" is  knowledge,  whether  it  be  in  a  bird  building  its 
nest  or  in  a  beaver  constructing  its  dam.  At  all  events, 
Technique  is  a  matter  of  knowledge !  Technique  is  science 
and  art.  It  requires  that  everything  that  concerns  it  be 
definite  and  scientific,  and  "instinct"  is  too  vague  to  be  tol- 
erated for  one  instant.  Just  as  the  art  existed  centuries  be- 
fore you  were  born  and  will  continue  to  exist  centuries  af- 
ter you  perish  in  your  vanity,  so  has  existed,  does  exist,  and 
will  exist,  independently  of  you,  the  Material  out  of  which  a 
play  is  made.  You  were  no  more  born  with  an  innate  know- 
ledge of  all  the  Material  in  the  world  or  one  atom  of  that 
Material  than  you  were  born  with  a  knowledge,  an  "In- 
stinct," of  the  Technique.  What  are  you  and  your  thoughts, 
your  imaginings  and  your  combinations  compared  with  the 
complexity  of  emotions  and  happenings  between  the  my- 
riads of  souls  that  live  and  have  lived?  Do  you  think  you 
are  larger  than  the  Material  and  more  important  than  the 


8  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.K 

Technique?  Man  was  created  a  little  lower  than  the  angels 
and,  we  may  surmise,  in  all  modesty,  is  not  altogether  a 
worm;  but  his  powers  are  relative.  He  has  no  instincts 
that  are  not  shared  by  every  other  human  being  in  a  greater 
or  less  degree.  You  may  believe  that  you  have  the  quali- 
ties of  a  dramatist.  That  is  an  altogether  different  matter. 
But  what  qualities?  The  drama  or  its  Material  embraces 
every  emotion  felt  by  any  human  being. 


CHAPTER  II. 


ANALYSIS. 


What  is  analysis  ?  It  is  the  taking  apart  of  anything,  the 
resolving  of  it  into  its  elements,  in  order  to  discover  its  na- 
ture and  the  principles  of  its  construction  whereby  it  ex- 
ists and  has  its  functions.  It  is  the  source  of  all  scientific 
knowledge.  It  is  something  that  every  man  of  good  and 
practical  sense  exercises  in  the  simplest  matter  that  he 
wishes  to  understand.  He  can  tie  a  sailor's  knot  only 
when  he  finds  out  how  it  is  done.  He  is  on  the  road  to  un- 
derstanding if  he  takes  a  watch  to  pieces  in  order  to  ascer- 
tain the  relations  of  its  various  parts.  He  will  not  be  a 
watchmaker  until  he  understands  also  the  principles  that 
have  led  to  the  devising  of  these  various  parts.  There  is 
a  certain  mechanism  about  playwriting  that  is  just  as  dis- 
tinct as  the  mechanism  of  a  watch.  Any  contention  to  the 
contrary  is  the  prejudice  of  ignorance.  The  principles  re- 
main the  same  in  the  one  case  as  the  other.  Remember  that 
this  refers  only  to  the  mechanism,  principles  of  construc- 
tion and  the  law  of  the  drama  which  must  be  obeyed  by 
every  one  who  attempts  a  drama,  whether  he  be  a  genius 
or  an  ordinary  human  being.  I  may  incidentally  remark 
that  many  of  our  best  plays  are  written  by  so-called  ordina- 
ry people  and  that  many  of  our  worst  plays  are  written  by 
so-called  geniuses.  I  do  not  believe  it  is  possible  for  one 
to  become  an  expert  in  playwriting  without  understanding 
Analysis.  Do  not  make  the  mistake  of  thinking  that  it  is 
not  playwriting  and  that  you  are  not  beginning  to  learn 
playwriting  when  you  begin  with  exercises  in  Analysis. 
In  point  of  fact,  it  is  playwriting,  which,  as  I  have  already 
set  forth,  is  a  process  of  thought  first  of  all.  Coming  over 
on  a  steamer  not  a  great  while  ago  some  one  cornered  Paul 
Potter,  the  dramatizer  of  "Trilby,"  which  was  played  in 
many   countries,   a   man  whose   mastery  of  Technique   is 


10  ANALYSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

as  great  as  that  of  any  other  I  know,  and  asked  him  "How 
one  learned  to  write  a  play."  That  is  a  question  that  can- 
not be  answered  in  a  single  word;  but  his  answer  comes 
as  near  covering  the  case  as  possible.  His  reply  was  "By 
analyzing  plays."  He  added  that  he  had  analyzed  a  thous- 
and plays,  and  Mr.  Bronson  Howard,  the  first  scientific  dra- 
matist America  ever  had  (apart  from  Bartley  Campbell)  told 
him  that  he  had  analyzed  twelve  hundred  or  more.  Now, 
what  does  one  discover  on  analysis?  He  certainly  finds  that 
there  are  not  one  hundred  new  and  different  principles  in 
each  of  these  thousand  plays  and  that  the  art  of  playwriting 
does  not  depend  upon  the  caprice  of  each  writer,  but  that 
it  is  systematic  and  can  be  reduced  to  system,  one  system, 
not  a  hundred  systems,  while  the  principles  are  compar- 
atively few,  although  there  is  infinite  detail.  He  finds  that 
it  is  the  same  art,  whether  exercised  by  Shakespeare  or  by 
Ibsen  or  by  Henry  Arthur  Jones.  This  art  is  independent 
of  genius.  It  is  the  same  thing  at  all  times !  It  is  a  univer- 
sal keyboard.  We  analyze  with  reference  to  the  art,  to 
mechanism,  to  the  Technique.  We  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  qualities  or  general  nature  of  a  play.  The  play  may  be 
good  or  it  may  be  bad.  The  Technique,  and  perfect  Tech- 
nique, may  be  applied  to  something  that  has  no  value  or 
which  is  abhorrent  in  morals  and  taste.  Reconcile  yourself 
to  that  at  the  very  outset.  You  will  understand  it  fully 
after  a  little.  Of  course  morality  and  taste  and  all  the 
best  human  qualities  should  exist  in  a  play,  but  that  is  not 
the  question.  In  making  an  Analysis  of  a  play  we  take  it 
apart  with  reference  to  the  principles.  To  consider  as  a 
whole  is  not  Analysis  at  all.  To  read  a  play  for  informa- 
tion, for  its  historical  bearings  in  any  sense,  is  for  the  gen- 
eral reader  and  not  for  the  student.  That  kind  of  informa- 
tion is  useful  and  perhaps  indispensable,  but  it  lies  far  away 
from  the  study  of  structure  and  how  the  play  is  put  to- 
gether. One  might  know  every  play,  or  every  important 
play,  ever  written  and  still  have  little  or  no  understanding 
of  Technique,  which  is  to  say,  how  they  were  written.    We 


ANALYSIS  II 

must,  then,  .take  up  the  Analysis  of  a  play,  point  by  point, 
with  reference  to  each  established  principle,  such  as  Pro* 
position.  Plot,  Unity,  Sequence,  Cause  and  Effect  and  so  on. 
In  that  way  we  master  the  play  in  Detail.  We  examine  the 
application  of  every  principle  in  every  relation.  The  analyti- 
cal work  at  first  is  almost  entirely  directed  to  gaining  a  fa- 
miliarity with  the  meaning  of  the  terms.  We  then  expand  the 
method  of  Analysis  and  consider  each  principle  with  refer- 
ence to  every  other  principle.  We  must  first  understand 
the  Terms.  If  two  people  were  talking  about  electricity, 
one  an  expert  and  the  other  with  only  a  general  and  limited 
knowledge,  not  knowing  exactly  what  was  meant  by  Ohm, 
Volt,  or  Killowatt,  a  discussion  would  be  fruitless  and  the 
expert  would  abandon  it  in  disgust.  Analysis  and  Criti- 
cism are  two  very  different  things.  Any  one  on  earth  can 
criticise,  but  Analysis  can  only  be  applied  by  him  who  has 
a  knowledge  of  the  art.  Criticism  may  be  empty  and  ca- 
pricious. Analysis  gets  at  the  truth.  One  must  gain  a 
perfect  understanding  and  command  of  the  principles  as  a 
preliminary  step  toward  applying  them.  How  can  it  be 
said  that  any  one  is  applying  a  principle  if  he  does  not  know 
what  the  principle  is  ?  It  is  not  enough  that  one  may  have 
a  general  knowledge.  His  knowledge  must  be  specific. 
A  general  knowledge  may  serve  for  a  while,  but  a  crisis 
will  come  when  it  will  not  do.  If  you  take  the  trouble  to  do 
the  exercise  work  and  to  set  down  everything  in  black  and 
white,  or  even  if  you  think  it  out,  following  the  method 
herein,  you  will  gradually  and  finally  realize  the  necessity 
of  it  and  can  apply  the  principles  knowingly  when  you  get 
to  work  on  your  own  plays.  You  will  then  have  a  pleasure 
in  the  work  that  is  not  possible  if  you  do  not  possess  a 
living  Technique.  To  have  Technique  on  your  side  in- 
spires one  with  confidence.  On  the  artistic  side  of  a  play 
there  are  many  things  that  are  not  matters  of  opinion,  but 
are  facts  of  indisputable  principle  or  Technique.  The  work 
of  Analysis  is  of  absolute  importance,  for  it  forms  the  habit 
of  mind.    It  enables  one  to  use  the  principles  as  tools.     He 


12  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E 

must  be  so  familiar  with  these  tools  that  he  can  use  them 
with  perfect  readiness  and  take  up  the  exact  tool  needed  for 
a  certain  bit  of  work.  Of  course,  at  first  you  will  think 
that  all  this  is  academic  and  too  formal.  You  will  say 
that  it  is  impossible  for  one  to  think  of  his  subject  and  of 
all  his  tools  at  the  same  time,  whereas,  when  one  has  a  per- 
fect knowledge  of  all  the  principles  he  does  not  have  to 
marshal  all  the  knowledge  at  one  and  the  same  time  in  any 
conscious  way.  His  principle  will  come  to  his  help  con- 
sciously only  when  he  needs  it.  I  have  said  that  the  exer- 
cise of  this  Analysis  in  Technique  is  playwriting  itself; 
but  assuming  that  you  had  or  had  not  exercised  Analysis 
in  the  writing  of  the  play,  there  is  a  final  use  of  it  that  can- 
not possibly  be  avoided,  and  that  is  in  the  revision  of  your 
play.  There  it  has  a  most  definite  and  final  use.  For  in- 
stance, if  one  has  not  mastered  Proposition  and  Plot  and 
should  discover,  either  on  production  of  the  play  or  on  a 
close  consideration  of  it,  or  should  feel,  without  knowing 
why,  that  there  is  something  wrong  with  the  play,  and  if 
the  defect  were  in  Proposition  and  Plot  he  would  never 
correct  the  fault,  wotk  as  long  as  he  might. 

I  see  an  infinite  number  of  plays  that  are  faulty,  both  on 
the  boards  and  in  the  manuscript,  to  which  final  value 
could  be  given  if  the  author  knew  what  was  wrong  in 
them.  When  an  author  becomes  possessed  of  his  subject 
and  gets  into  the  warmth  of  composition  he  may  easily 
lose  sight  of  accuracy,  and  accuracy  in  spite  of  the  derision 
in  which  Technique  is  sometimes  held  means  truth.  In- 
cidentally it  also  means  money.  It  stands  back  of  all 
permanent  success.  It  wards  off  failure.  I  am  in  no  de- 
gree academic  and  I  know  from  long  experience  and  ob- 
servation that  Technique  is  not  an  empty  word  and  that 
Analysis  is  the  first  step  toward  gaining  it.  You  will  find 
that  the  whole  tendency  of  this  Course  is  to  destroy  con- 
ventionality and  to  give  freedom  to  the  man  to  establish 
the  art  and  its  methods  firmly  in  him.  The  art  should  be 
gained  before  writing  plays.     Refuse  to  submit  to  it  and 


ANAIvYSiS  13 

you  may  wander  in  the  wilderness  all  your  days  long, 
^is  School  was  established  in  order  to  keep  countless 
people  from  working  in  their  own  way  with  a  contempt- 
uous disdain  for  Technique's  I  have  read  literally  thousands 
of  plays  written  by  inexpert  people  in  their  own  way,  and 
some  of  them  reveal  work  that  is  no  better  than  it  was, 
to  my  knowledge,  twenty  years  ago.  I  am  convinced  that 
a  year  devoted  largely  to  analytical  work  is  necessary  for 
most  students  in  order  to  get  them  to  secure  the  right  at- 
titude toward  drama.  The  simple  question  of  time  is  im- 
portant. If  one  begins  to  write  too  soon,  it  becomes  a 
process  of  unlearning,  and  that  throws  the  burden  of  the 
work  on  the  teacher. 

You  will  ask  why  these  five  plays  were  selected  and  you 
will  object  that  they  are  not  modern  and  recent  enough. 
They  were  not  selected  with  any  particular   deliberation, 
nor  entirely  at  random,  but  because  they  answered  the  pur- 
pose in  hand.     They  were  and  are  successful  and  famous 
plays.     Any  play  or  plays  of  that  description  could  have 
done  just  as  well.     Public  taste  may  change,  but  dramatic 
principle  does  not  change.     The  application  of  principle  is 
subject  to  betterment  in  the  technical  handling  of  material; 
but  the  principles  remains  the  same  in  Ibsen  or  Shaw  and 
no  dramatist  will  ever  overturn  them.   /The  modern  and 
the    most    recent    writers    will    be    considered    in    another 
section  of  the  course.     If  dramatic  principle  had  to  be  de- 
rived from  them,  and  was  absent  in  all  dramas  before  their 
time,  and  was  as  subject  to  fluctuation  as  the  stock  market, 
the  art  would  be  bottomless;  in  fact  no  art;  wfeefeas)we 
can  reach  rock  bottom  and  the  foundation  of  all  dramatic 
principle  in  these  particular  plays  as  well  as  in  any  other 
plays  ever  written.^  Analysis  and  technique  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  witMiistory  or  the  qualities  of  morality  and 
aesthetics    in    a    play.      If  ''Camille"  is  an  objectionable 
play  to  you,  console  yourself  with  this  truth  which  I  urge. 
You  may  criticise  it  as  you  will,  but  your  criticism  can 
never    touch    the    technical    side    of    it.      "The    Lady    of 


14  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E 

Lyons"  may  be  old  fashioned  in  its  sentiment,  but  the  art 
of  it,  I  mean  particularly  the  essential  dramatic  principles 
to  be  found  in  it,  will  never  become  old  fashioned.  Dra- 
matic technique  has  improved  in  some  details  since  the  play 
was  written,  but  the  dramatic  principle  of  it  is  sound. 

Analysis  is  only  one  of  the  methods  that  we  shall  use  in 
our  study,  but  it  is  one  that  is  involved  in  every  part  of 
it,  as  we  shall  find  as  we  attack  dramatic  principle  from 
various  points  of  approach.  Analysis  is  involved  in  every 
step  of  play  writing.  As  a  method  of  learning  it  is  infinitely 
more  expeditious  than  the  uninformed  efforts  at  plays  by 
one  who  has  made  no  study  of  the  art  in  plays  written  by 
masters  of  the  craft.  The  individuality  of  the  student  is 
not  concerned.  His  vanity  is  not  touched.  His  errors  do 
not  have  to  be  uprooted  from  the  soil  perhaps  of  obsti- 
nate and  confirmed  ignorance ;  ^t  would  be  a  superhuman 
£ask  to  teach  a  beginner  by  correcting  his  own  more 
or  less  miserable  compositions  and  to  stop  at  every  step 
ifn  order  to  explain  to  him  fully  some  dramatic  principle^ 
t)ne  might  do  it  with  his  own  child;  but  he  could  under- 
take to  train  but  a  few  and  could  give  a  life  time  to  those 
few  and  become  prematurely  old  in  the  expenditure  of  his 
energies.  I  shall  give  some  description  of  the  labor  in- 
volved ii^  an  intercalary  chapter  which  I  shall  devote  to 
Lmateup 

Analysis  has  many  practical  uses.  It  enables  you  to  be- 
come familiar  with  the  art  in  all  of  its  aspects  and  to  ascer- 
tain the  actual  methods  and  the  causes  of  the  excellence  of 
any  writer  whose  plays  you  may  choose  to  subject  to  the 
process.  You  can  ascertain  to  a  nicety  how  Dumas,  Sar- 
dou,  Pinero,  Clyde  Fitch,  Augustus  Thomas,  Suderman  or 
any  other  writer  has  arrived  at  results.  Analysis  is  the 
golden  key  to  the  whole  art. 

I  shall  add,  with  entire  confidence,  and  with  all  respect 
to  sucessful  dramatists,  that  the  art  does  not  depend  upon 
these  writers,  but  that  it  exists  independent  of  them,  large 
bountiful  and  exact,  in  the  same  manner  in  which  any  form 


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-U3       pUB       S4lXg;    '9nSojBIQ    *J9pBJBq3    '^JBSS9D9UUj[^       9q; 

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9qX  *uoi;BJBd9J(j  'p9p9dx9Uf][  9qx  *AiAip9fqo  'uoip9aip 
-uj  *spao^  9J9j\[  *ss9Uisng  9J9];\[  'iCjo;^  9a9]/\[  '9jiq  9J9p\[ 
';D9jg:3   puB  9snB3   '90U9nb9S   'Ajuj^  'iioipy  's9U9Dg  o;ui 

UOISIATQ    'spy    0;UI    UOISIAIQ    ';0U    'UOpiSOdOJJ    *;U9p999JJ 

suoi;ipuo3  'ibu9;bj\[  '9iu9qx  9-1^  iCp;BJBd9S  p9;B9j;  9q 
niM  ;Bq;  S9idpuud  9q;  Suouiy  ./SXHSQ  a^O  AVd  OX 
AVAV  M3N  V,,  P«^  ./d33a  NH.^  SHHXVAV  IIIXS,, 
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"NL,  ^-^^  p9sn  s^Bjd  9AIJ  9qx  'SisXibub  Xq  m9q;  J9A09Sip 
abui  noiC  SB  S9idpuud  9q;  jo  uopBDqddB  9q;  puB  siua9;  jbd 
-iuqo9x  9q^  JO  Suiub91u  9q;  uaB9t  o:^  9aB  no^  •9Sodand  9q; 
o^  Suiqi^ou  SI  q;iAV  utS9q  o;  s^CByd  J9q;o  a9j9ad  ppoM  noX 
:^Bqx  '^luo  9idpuud  9jnd  puB  9nbiuqD9X  o;  99U9J9J9j  q:jiAv 
SiCB^d  9S9q;  SuiyCpnp  9aB  9av  ;Bq;  puiiu  ui  aB9a;  •p9§uBqD  9q 
;ou  iiiM.  puB  p9SuBqo  U99q  ;ou  9ABq  puB  '|BUJ9p  U99q  sXbav 
-|B  9ABq  *{BUJ9;9  9JB  ssnosip  o:^  9JB  9M  S9ydpuuj  91^;  ;Bq; 
iioX  o;  9;Bj:^suoLU9p  o;  ss9uisnq  Xui  ;i  9>ibui  n^H^  v^nq  'Sui 
-^uMiCB^d  JO  siujoj  UI  s;u9uidopA9p  ;s9;bi  9q;  o;  uAvop  ppg 
9Ji;u9  9q:^  J9AO0  \^;^^\^  ^AV)  'AlFPy-isdns  o;  p9Soddo  9jb 
^Bq:^  qDJB9S9J  jo  si^iqBq  9sdq;  9JinbDB  o;  xioR.  9iqBU9  o;  puB 

U0I;U9;;B  JHOtC  91BJ3,U99U0D  O;   SI    q^IM   UlS9q   O;  sXB^d   M9J  B 

JO  uoip9ps  siqx  r9iiqMUB9Ui  9q;  ui  p9ipn;s  puB  pB9J  Xl[BD 
-pX^BUB  9ABq  Xbiu  noX  ;Bq;  s^CBid  9q;  \\^  uiojj  s9idLUBX9 
iCq   p9;Bj;srqii   puB    p9J9MsuB   9q   ppioqs   suot;s9nQ    u9qM 

L\  a^nsHnj  3:a  ox  qohx^h  ^hx 


ANALYSIS  15 

of  nature  exists.  We  can  go  back  of  these  writers  and  es- 
tablish the  principles  in  the  very  nature  of  the  drama,  and- 
that  I  shall  do  in  the  philosophical  section  of  our  studies. 
Again,  instead  of  learning  from  one's  own  self,  (in  some 
cases  a  very  poor  authority  and  source  of  information) 
one  has  the  whole  field  before  him  for  self  instruction.  He 
can  pursue  his  investigation  far  beyond  what  the  school 
attempts.  I  am  only  teaching  you  how  to  analyze.  Until 
you  have  made  a  careful  and  repeated  reading  and  study 
of  the  analysis  in  these  pages  of  the  five  plays,  confine 
yourself  to  these  plays.  I  have  not  made  every  illustration 
of  a  given  principle  from  the  plays.  I  have  simply  shown 
you  how  to  do  it  and  abundant  work  remains  to  you  to 
continue  your  investigation  within  the  limits  of  these  five 
plays,  for  the  present.  The  principles  and  methods  could 
be  confirmed  by  limitless  examples.  That  this  is  so  does 
in  no  wise  impair  the  stability  of  the  principles,  nor  does 
it  mean  that  one's  work  of  analysis  need  be  limitless.  The 
confirmation  of  principle  which  will  be  encountered 
throughout  your  active  interest  in  the  drama  will  always 
be  a  pleasant  experience,  but  when  you  realize  a  principle 
and  feel  secure  in  it  your  appointed  task  is  at  an  end. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  METHOD  TO  BE  PURSUED. 

The  first  and  most  important  thing  for  a  student  to 
recognize  is  that  Playwriting  is  an  art  which  has  taken 
centuries  to  develop;  that  it  requires  time  and  applica- 
tion to  master  its  requirements,  and  that  he  must  have  it  at 
his  fingers'  ends  before  he  can  possibly  possess  the  pro- 
fessional touch.  It  is  no  longer  a  crude  art  to  be  exercised 
by  the  first  comer.  The  attitude  to  assume  in  approaching 
the  subject  is  that  the  dramatic  art  is  greater  than  you  are, 
which  it  assuredly  is,  whoever  you  may  be.  You  will  find 
that  out  whatever  may  be  your  present  opinion  of  yourself. 
We  assume  that  you  know  nothing  of  the  art,  and  begin 
with  the  elemental  principles,  proposing  to  carry  you 
through  the  principles  and  methods  up  to  the  most  complex 
reasoning.  For  the  present,  we  shall  devote  ourselves  ex- 
clusively to  the  analysis  of  plays.  The  method  of  instruc- 
tion and  the  process  of  learning  may  be  illustrated  by  that 
pursued,  let  us  say,  in  arithmetic  or  algebra.  A  text  book 
on  either  science  will,  in  a  given  chapter,  work  out  a  single 
example,  reducing  to  rule,  explaining  the  reasons  and  the 
law  in  full,  and  then  furnish  a  sufficient  number  of  exam- 
ples for  the  student  to  work  out  unaided  except  by  th^^ 
process  and  solution  afforded  in  the  model.  YThe  principle 
once  mastered,  it  can  be  applied  by  way  of  Analysis  to  all 
plays  ever  written  or,  in  a  practical  way,  to  whatever  you 
may  be  confronted  with  that  needs  solution  in  your  own 
plays.  The  plays  selected  for  Analysis  contain  every  prin- 
ciple used  in  playwriting.  They  are  thoroughly  actable  and 
effective.  If  they  were  unsuccessful  and  imperfect  plays 
they  would  not  serve  our  purpose.  The  examination  and 
discussion  of  bad  dramatic  syntax  belongs  to  another  sec- 
tion of  our  studies.  {  No  actual  exercise  is  required  of  you 
until  we  reach  still  another  section,  the  Question  Sheets, 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THEME. 


The  Theme  of  a  play  is  the  general  subject,  which  holds 
throughout,  but  which  reduced  to  a  specific  form  becomes 
the  basis  of  the  play. 

There  must  be  one  leading  and  controlling  Theme,  with 
usually  a  subordinate  Theme  connected  with  it.  There 
may  be  still  other  incidental  Themes,  but  the  main  Theme 
must  govern.  We  see  at  once  that  Unity  is  concerned  in 
this  and  that  the  principles  are  interdependent,  not  one  of 
them  standing  alone.  We  cannot  discuss  every  aspect  of 
a  principle  with  reference  to  the  plays  in  hand.  We  must 
take  up  things  in  their  order.  None  of  these  plays  has  two 
or  more  Themes  of  equal  importance,  consequently  we 
shall  reserve  discussion  of  plays  defective  because  of  such  a 
Technical  defect.  All  great  plays  or  good  plays  are  based 
on  Theme.  You  have  only  to  refer  to  Shakespere  and 
Moliere  to  discover  the  truth  for  yourself.  The  ordinary 
commercial  play  is  one  of  situations  for  the  sake  of  situa- 
tions, and  not  for  the  sake  of  the  Theme.  Until  we  regard 
Theme  of  the  first  importance  we  shall  have  few  good  plays. 
Proceeding  from  the  general  to  the  particular,  we  reduce 
the  general  Theme  to  a  specific  one.  "Romeo  and  Juliet," 
general  theme.  Love ;  specific  theme,  Love,  according  to  the 
limitations  and  conditions  of  the  Proposition. 

Love,  no  doubt,  has  been  the  staple  of  the  drama  and 
has  been  more  often  used  as  a  general  Theme  than  any 
other;  but  it  can  assume  so  many  different  forms  and  exist 
under  so  many  different  conditions  that  we  find  it  differ- 
entiated in  numberless  specific  Themes.  The  general 
Theme  of  "Ingomar,"  its  circumference,  is  Love,  but 
specifically  it  is  Love  that  conquers  a  Barbarian.  Is  not 
the  play  filled  with  Love  as  with  the  perfume  of  a  flower? 
Is  not  purity  in  a  woman's  heart  and  nature  exalted,  and 


20  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPIv]^ 

should  not  all  love  be  nourished  on  and  be  established  in 
purity?  Is  not  the  play  different  from  those  erotic  exposit- 
ions of  so  called  Love  in  which  a  wife,  with  a  marriageable 
daughter,  the  mother  at  least  forty,  is  about  to  elope  or  is 
actually  eloping  with  her  "lover?"  A  general  Theme,  then, 
is  a  very  wide  thing  and  may  reach  to  the  depths  of  the 
universal  heart.  What  reason  have  you  to  imagine  that 
there  is  nothing  in  Theme  and  that  it  is  only  academic  jar- 
gon? It  is  persistently  and  inevitably  also  a  technical  mat- 
ter. Upon  what  grounds  have  you  a  prejudice  against 
Technique?  There  is  not  a  scene  in  this  play  that  does  not, 
in  one  way  or  another,  concern  the  purity  and  love  of  Par- 
thenia.  The  author,  Baron  Muench  von  Bellinghausen, 
stuck  to  his  Theme. 

Very  often  the  Theme  of  a  pl^y  is  expressed  in  its  title 
or  sub-title.  In  the  case  of  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  we 
find  it  Love  and  Pride.  Although  the  Action  of  the  play  is 
laid  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  and  the  atmosphere  of 
war  is  felt,  yet  it  is  obvious  that  Bulwer  did  not  make  war 
or  the  Revolution  his  main  Theme;  if  he  had  done  so  it 
would  have  been  another  play.  He  would  have  been 
ploughing  another  soil.  The  war  and  the  revolution  are  in- 
cidental to  the  main  Action  and  are  called  into  it  only  as 
required.  Bulwer  stuck  to  his  Theme.  You  will  observe 
that  his  Theme  is  not  merely  Love,  but  that  Pride  is  con- 
joined to  it.  This  is  entirely  proper,  for  he  makes  his  gen- 
eral Theme  the  idea  of  Love,  then  Love  as  it  is  influenced 
by  Pride;  the  Theme  of  Love  thus  becoming  a  specific 
thing.  He  had  a  definite  idea  to  start  with  in  his  investi- 
gation, or,  he  discovered  after  looking  into  his  Material 
what  his  Theme  was  to  be.  If  the  Deschapelles  had  been 
rich  aristocrats,  Bulwer  might  easily  have  made  his  Theme 
Aristocracy  and  Love,  or  Caste  and  Love.  Many  plays 
have  been  written  on  both  these  Themes.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  might  have  made  Claude  Melnotte  an  aristocrat 
and  Pauline  an  attractive  and  innocent  girl  of  the  peasant- 
ry; we  might  have  had  a  play  on  the  order  of  Faust  and 


THEME  21 

Marguerite.  Love  could  be  modified  in  so  many  ways, 
that  by  modifying  it  we  could  get  a  number  of  Themes.  It 
is  enough  to  see  that  this  play  has  a  definite  Theme,  that 
it  is  Love  and  Pride,  and  that  this  Theme  influenced  Bul- 
wer  throughout  the  play. 

Dumas  was  helped  to  his  Theme  of  "Caniille"-by  an  exist- 
ing combination  of  facts  of  which  he  had  knowledge  from 
a  drama  in  real  life  as  well  as  by  his  philosophy.  He  de- 
voted his  life  to  preaching  his  philosophy  concerning  the 
social  rights  and  wrongs  of  women  by  means  of  the  drama. 
In  our  study  of  Technique  we  are  not  required  to  combat 
his  point  of  view  in  this  play.  Dumas  set  out  to  prove  to 
our  hearts,  if  not  to  our  prejudices,  that  a  woman  of  the 
character  of  Camille  may  be  regenerated  by  love  and  a  su- 
preme sacrifice  prompted  by  it.  Here  was  a  conviction. 
His  Theme  was  a  philosophical  one.  In  proportion 
to  his  sincerity  and  purpose  an  author  will  hold  to 
his  theme.  It  thus  takes-  care  of  itself.  But  suppose 
Dumas  had  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  depict  the  vices 
and  the  manners  of  the  society  surrounding  Camille,  and 
had  been  looking  for  complications  and  situation  mainly 
for  the  commercial  purpose  of  making  an  entertaining 
play,  he  would  not  have  held  to  his  present  Theme.  Innu- 
merable opportunities  for  a  different  treatment  were  at 
hand.  The  Material  could  have  furnished  many  plays ;  but 
having  narrowed  his  Theme  down  to  a  Proposition,  he 
would  have  been  false  to  hi?  Proposition  as  well  as  to  his 
Theme  if  he  had  not  made  the  whole  action  bear  upon  the 
working  out  of  his  object.  The  Theme  in  this  play  is  as 
constant  as  the  note  which  runs  through  a  piece  of  music. 
It  is  a  specific  Theme,  an  earnest  Theme,  and  the  Action 
of  every  part  of  the  play  is  instinct  with  it. 

Byron,  the  author  of  "Our  Boys,"  used  to  deride  the  idea 
of  "bothering  with  Theme."  Usually,  too,  there  is  no  need 
to  "bother"  with  it,  but  if  it  is  disregarded  it  has  a  way  of 
turning  up  and  having  its  reckoning.  It  is  our  business  at 
present  to  make  a  study  of  the  elements  that  we  find  exist- 


22  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPIvi; 

ent  in  these  plays.  While  the  Theme  is  the  first  element 
in  the  order  of  our  investigation,  this  does  not  imply  that 
Taylor,  in  writing  ''Still  Waters  Run  Deep,"  began  the 
consideration  of  his  subject  with  his  Theme.  Let  us  as- 
sume that  he  came  across  a  story  first,  in  which  the  princi- 
pal character,  who  is  misunderstood  because  of  his  easy- 
going nature,  loses  authority  in  his  own  household  and 
then  regains  it  by  the  assertion  of  his  real  man- 
hood. In  that  case  the  Theme  was  obvious  and 
suggested  itself.  It  became  specific  as  the  story  was  devel- 
oped, but  he  retained  that  Theme  necessarily  if  he  retained 
the  idea  of  writing  a  play  on  that  Theme.  The  Theme 
once  established,  he  could  not  depart  from  it,  his  obligation 
to  the  Theme  becoming  more  and  more  important  as  he 
proceeded  with  the  Action.  Suppose  he  had  not  consulted 
his  Theme  and  had  used  the  mother-in-law  idea  instead  of 
that  of  the  dominating  aunt.  He  would  have  found  himself 
involved  with  a  Theme  strong  enough  to  overwhelm  his 
original  plan  of  the  play  and  offering  something  out  of 
which  a  new  or  very  different  play  could  be  written.  Did 
he  not  have  to  "bother"  with  the  Theme  when  the  idea  of 
the  mother-in-law  occurred  to  him,  as  it  almost  inevitably 
must  have  done?  Thus,  the  Proposition  is  governed  by  the 
Theme.  It  is,  at  least,  the  Proposition  which  you  elect 
to  use  from  the  many  Propositions  that  could  be  made  from 
the  Theme.  The  dramatist  has  often  to  stop  and  consider 
his  Theme  when  he  feels  that  he  is  departing  from  it.  The 
Theme  of  this  play  is  not  the  rascality  of  Hawksley.  If  that 
had  been  the  main  idea  to  be  worked  out,  the  treatment 
would  have  been  materially  different,  and  it  would,  in  fact, 
have  made  a  different  play.  A  Theme  may  have  its  comple- 
mentary Theme,  if  it  does  not  always  have  it,  and  the  ras- 
cality and  character  of  Hawksley  was  subordinate  to  and 
complementary  of  the  main  Theme,  that  of  the  character 
misunderstood  by  those  about  him.  The  main  Proposition 
has  its  subordinate  Proposition,  and  so  can  the  Theme  have 
its  subordinate  Theme.     If  Taylor,  in  thinking  his  play,  or 


THEM^  23 

in  writing  his  scenes,  had  found  himself  drifting  off  to  ex- 
ploiting the  detective  side  of  the  Action,  he  would  have 
halted,  as  an  expert  dramatist,  recognizing  that  he  was  not 
keeping  to  his  Theme.  The  Unity  of  this  play  is  very  mark- 
ed in  its  aspects  of  Unity  of  Theme.  That  the  main  Theme  of 
the  play  involves  many  subordinate  Themes  does  not 
destroy  the  Unity  of  the  whole.  With  the  character  of 
Mrs.  Sternhold  as  one  of  the  Themes,  the  romanticism  of 
Emily  another,  and  with  still  others,  the  author  proceeded 
on  his  way,  finding  his  Proposition  and  Plot  and  always 
considering  a  proper  subordination  of  his  Themes.  The 
dramatist  does  not  necessarily  get  any  part  of  his  play  first, 
not  even  his  Theme. 

We  are  discussing  plays  in  their  finished  form.  We  can 
begin  our  analysis  with  the  Theme.  It  does  not  necessarily 
follow  that  an  author  has  to  begin  with  the  Theme.  Tay- 
lor may  have  suddenly  discovered  during  his  process  of 
thought  that  he  was  not  working  on  the  right  Theme  and 
have  changed  it  to  the  one  we  now  have.  There  are  many 
ways  of  proving  that  a  Theme  is  essential.  With  the  intro- 
duction of  a  society  element  and  by  making  Hawksley  sim- 
ply a  spendthrift  with  reckless  business  methods  and  not 
a  criminal,  and  having  Mildmay  overcome  the  influence  of 
Hawksley  over  his  wife  in  some  other  way  than  by  defeat- 
ing his  financial  schemes,  we  have  a  kind  not  unfamiliar,  a 
society  play,  with  an  incidental  moral  lesson ;  but  the  play 
would  have  been  something  else.  Take  out  of  it  the  felo- 
nious nature  of  Hawksley's  schemes  and  have  it  a  business 
conflict  between  two  men,  the  woman  being  played  for, 
we  have  still  another  play.  You  may  say  that  it  is  idle  to 
imagine  such  things ;  but  the  possibilities  are  all  there,  with 
the  Characters,  and  unless  you  are  governed  by  something 
you  are  just  as  apt  to  go  in  one  direction  as  another.  Theme 
is  the  first  thing  that  restrains  you.  Sooner  or  later  the 
Theme  is  absolutely  necessary.  It  tinctures  all  the  scenes. 
There  is  not  a  scene  in  this  play  in  which  the  Theme  of  it, 
Mildmay's  quiet  resolution  and  his  relations  with  his  fam- 


24  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

ily  are  not  at  work.  This  is  a  good  play  to  keep'  in  mind  as 
proof  that  Theme  means  something,  is  entirely  practical 
and  cannot  be  ignored. 

The  largest  idea  in  Massinger's  play  of  "A  New 
Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  is  plainly  the  evil  of  acquir- 
ing wealth  and  power  by  means  of  oppression  and  un- 
fair methods,  and  particularly  with  reference  to  the  develop- 
ment of  character  animated  by  such  greed.  The  play  is 
well  named  as  it  is,  but  it  could  easily  be  called  "Sir  Giles 
Overreach."  Combined  against  Sir  Giles  are  all  the  active 
agencies  in  the  piece,  and  yet  he  towers  above  all  other 
characters.  He  is  a  force  for  evil  that  does  not  diminish  in 
its  effect  upon  us  to  the  very  end.  He  is  relentless  and  ter- 
rible in  his  moments  of  death.  The  foundering  of  a  mighty 
battleship  rent  asunder  in  the  conflict  or  the  sudden  col- 
lapse of  a  stately  building  is  portentous  and  fills  the  imagi- 
nation with  awe.  The  removal  from  earth  of  such  a  force 
for  evil  as  Sir  Giles,  his  existence  involving  and  imperilling 
the  lives  of  so  many  others,  is  of  the  same  nature.  Such  is 
the  magnitude  of  the  character  of  Sir  Giles,  but  only  good 
comes  from  his  destruction.  The  most  exalted  characters 
are  Lord  Lovell  and  Lady  Allworth,  but  how  small  a  part 
they  play  compared  with  Sir  Giles.  He  is  present  in  the 
mind  of  the  audience  all  the  time.  Wellborn,  who  sets  in 
motion  the  Plot  of  the  play,  is  of  slight  interest  compared 
with  him.  Allworth  and  Margaret  are  almost  purely  inci- 
dental. Sir  Giles  being  acted  upon,  the  Theme  was  devel- 
oped indirectly.  Undoubtedly  Massinger  gave  his  first 
study  to  this  Theme  of  Character.  Much  Material  was 
gathered  before  the  Plot  shaped  itself.  The  mechanism 
or  Plot  of  the  play  is  paltry,  ingenious  as  it  is,  compared 
with  the  laying  bare  of  such  a  nature.  The  Theme  is  very 
specific.  It  attached  to  a  condition  of  affairs  in  Engla.nd 
which  Massinget-  knew  intimately.  A  writer  with  a  seri- 
ous purpose  and  a  dominating  Theme  will  not  easily  go 
astray,  but  if  he  is  a  meretricious  writer  and  is  constantly 
looking  out  for  complications  or  comedy  he  can  find  them 


THEME  2^ 

both,  but  to  the  detriment  of  his  Theme.  Massinger  might 
have  made  Lord  Lovell  jealous  of  Wellborn,  Lady  Alt^ 
worth  might  have  mistrusted  Lovell's  real  purpose  with 
Margaret,  and  comedy  scenes  might  have  been  obtained, 
but  the  more  diverting  they  might  be,  the  more  divergent 
they  would  be  from  the  Theme.  Massinger  could  have  made 
an  Action  out  of  Sir  Giles'  matrimonial  attentions  to  Lady 
Allworth.  Substantially  the  same  Plot  could  have  been 
used,  but  with  a  somewhat  different  Action  because  of 
some  change  in  the  Theme.  A  great  deal  of  comedy  could 
have  been  got  out  of  this  Material;  and  if  Massinger  had 
been  writing  only  to  amuse  audiences,  which  some  writers 
contend  is  the  whole  duty  of  the  dramatist,  he  would  not 
have  written  this  true  and  noble  play.  He  kept  to  his 
Theme  and  did  nothing  at  its  expense. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  MATERIAL 

The  material  of  a  play  is  that  out  of  which  it  is  construct- 
ed, its  material  elements. 

It  is  obvious  that  one  might  consider  a  Theme,  of  Love 
for  example,  without  having  thought  of  or  determined  upon 
a  single  incident  or  Character.  It  does  not  imply  form  at 
all.  It  may  exist  or  it  may  have  to  be  found.  Of  course 
there  are  fantastic  forms  in  playwriting  in  which  the  un- 
bridled imagination  can  do  its  irresponsible  work,  but  the 
closer  we  keep  to  Life  the  more  worthy  is  our  play.  Plays 
grow  out  of  a  condition  of  affairs  and  proceed  from  the 
general  to  the  particular,  each  step  becoming  more  definite. 

The  first  knowledge  of  the  art  can  best  be  acquired  by 
analyzing  what  has  been  written.  We  first  arrive  at  the 
principles  and  then  at  how  to  apply  them.  One  must  know 
the  art  before  he  can  recognize  fit  Material.  It  would  be 
premature  to  discuss  the  various  processes  of  discovering 
or  devising  the  material  out  of  which  a  play  is  made.  Our 
present  concern  is  to  study  the  Technique  whereby  the 
Material  is  shaped.  Playwriting  is  a  process  of  reasoning, 
and  the  mind  cannot  co-operate  with  the  heart,  with  pre- 
cision, until  it  is  able  to  think  in  dramatic  terms,  just  as  one 
must  be  able  to  think  in  a  language  before  he  can  fairly 
claim  to  be  its  master.  The  trained  dramatic  mind  is  occu- 
pied much  longer  in  gathering  the  Material  and  in  con- 
structing the  play,  shaping  his  Material,  than  in  the  actual 
writing.  How  long  or  short  a  time  it  requires  to  "write" 
a  play  is  immaterial,  but  if  we  assume  that  a  year  is  given 
to  it,  three  fourths  of  that  time  had  best  be  applied  to  the 
preliminary  and  tentative  research  and  thought.  To  dis- 
cuss Material  at  this  time  would  lead  us  into  a  discussion 
of  Methods  for  which  we  are  not  prepared.  We  must  con- 
fine ourselves  to  the  plays  in  hand. 


the:  matkriai,  27 

The  author  of  'Tngomar"  may  have  arrived  at  his  Ma- 
terial, or  what  we  may  call  the  Facts  of  his  play  by  a  pro^ 
cess  of  induction  or  deduction.  Both  processes  may  be  used 
in  the  same  play.  He  may  have  had  the  central  idea  from 
a  legend  or  story  or  poem,  or  he  may  have  worked  directly 
from  his  Theme.  A  way  had  to  be  found  to  get  Parthenia 
an.cng  the  Allobrogi.  He  had  to  proceed  on  Facts.  One 
need  suggested  another  need.  A  mere  story  was  not  suffi- 
cient; the  Material  had  to  be  susceptible  of  dramatic  treat- 
ment. Parthenia  must  go  among  Barbarians.  What  Bar- 
barians? Where?  Why?  How?  Barbarians?,  Let  us 
look  up  some  Barbarians.  In  looking  them  up  the  author 
found  much  that  he  could  use  as  Material  and  perhaps 
more  that  he  could  not,  but  he  found  a  custom  to  hold  pri- 
soners for  ransom.  That  may  have  suggested  for  the  first 
time  the  means  of  getting  Parthenia  to  the  camp.  He 
found  that  they  would  cast  lots  for  the  possession  of  a  cap- 
tive girl.  Don't  you  see  the  advantage  of  searching  for 
Material  and  how  it  will  meet  you  half  way  if  you  do?  Is 
not  that  better  than  "sitting  down  and  writing  a  play?'' 

If  you  read  the  preface  to  ''The  Lady  of  Lyons," 
you  will  discern  Bulwer's  process  of  mind.  He  found  much 
of  the  Material  ready  made  and  at  hand.  This  does  not 
mean  that  one  should  seek  for  an  already  existing  story, 
but  it  so  happens  that  Bulwer  did  find  his  first  definite  idea 
in  a  "very  pretty  little  tale"  called  "The  Bellows-Mender." 
Being  thus  led  to  the  French  Revolution,  he  instinctively, 
because  he  knew  drama,  felt  that  there  was  a  drama  in  those 
troubled  times.  In  meditating  over  and  reading  up  his 
Material,  may  he  not  have  rejected  more  Material  than  he 
used  in  the  play  in  its  finished  form?  Of  course  in  its  final 
shape,  we  have  only  that  Material  which  he  actually  used. 
To  that  suggestive  Material  he  added  more.  His  raw  Ma- 
terial existed  in  general  facts  and  ideas  and  such  details  as 
he  selected  while  gathering  his  Material.  It  is  obvious 
that  he  selected  his  Material  with  reference  to  his  Theme, 
which  he  soon  decided  upon  in  his  process  of  thought.    In 


h  *  'f  ? 


.^^' 


ji^ 


$a*j^/Ci5!i.  o'S 


28  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

determining  upon  Proposition,  Plot,  Characters,  incidents 
and  Action  he  was  constantly  electing  Material  as  called  for 
by  the  various  structural  parts  of  the  play.  The  dramatist 
must  have  the  Material  out  of  which  to  make  his  play,  just 
as  a  tailor  nfust  have  Material  out  of  which  to  make  his 
coat. 

The  source  of  Dumas'  Material  for  "Camille"  has  been 
referred  to  in  the  chapter  on  Theme. 

In  preparing  these  exercises  we  are  trying  to  go  over  the 
same  ground  covered  by  the  dramatist  himself.  We  get  in 
"Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  an  excellent  example  of  what 
must  have  been  his  process  of  thought  and  method 
of  construction  and  writing  the  play  in  the  matter 
of  gathering  the  material.  Could  any  one  suppose 
for  an  instant  that  when  Taylor  reached  the  writing 
or  dialogueing  of  the  scene  between  Hawksley  and 
Mildmay  in  the  second  act,  he  wrote  it  off-hand? 
Hawksley  tries  his  oily  persuasion  on  Mildmay,  believing 
that  he  had  an  easy  customer  for  the  shares  in  his  Inexplo- 
sible  Galvanic  Boat  Company.  He  proceeds :  "You  under- 
stand algebra?"  Mildmay  admits  that  he  knew  a  little  of 
it  at  school.  Then  Hawksley :  "Then  let  X  and  X/2  denote 
the  respective  cost  of  the  two  modes  of  carriage — while  the 
two  rates  of  profit  are  represented  by  Y  and  YI" — "Which, 
in  algebra  denotes  an  unknown  quantity,"  suggests  Mild- 
may. Then  Hawksley:  "Precisely."  "Well  A.  and  B.  re- 
maining constant,  let  Y-A  plus  B/X  be  the  formula  for  pro- 
fit in  the  case  of  steam,  then  YI  equals  A  plus  B/X  divided 
by  2  will  be  the  formula  in  the  case  of  galvanic  transport — 
or,  reducing  the  quotation,  YI  equals  2Y,  or  in  plain  Eng- 
lish, the  profit  on  galvanic  transport  equal  to  twice  the  pro- 
fit on  steam  carriage.  I  hope  that's  clear!"  Unquestion- 
ably, Taylor  had  this  oily,  specious  and  confusing  talk  in 
his  notes,  in  his  Material,  long  before  he  knew  exactly 
where  and  how  he  could  use  it.  It  is  not  impossible,  of 
course,  that  when  he  reached  this  scene  he  found  it  neces- 
sary to  stop  work  until  he  could  look  up  the  terms  that 


the:  materiaIv  29 

the  rascally  promoter  would  use  in  order  to  appear  to  have 
a  profound  and  exact  knowledge  of  his  subject.  Whether 
Hawksley's  algebra  has  any  significance  or  not  in  a  scienti- 
fic way,  Taylor  wanted  to  make  him  a  very  formidable 
schemer  and  talker.  It  would  not  do  to  make  him  utter 
complete  nonsense  in  figures.  It  would  not  have  done  to 
have  Hawksley  present  an  entirely  reasonable  proposition. 
It  had  to  be  plausible,  susceptible  of  demonstration  by  a 
juggling  with  figures.  The  schemes  of  promoters  must 
have  been  attracting  attention  in  London.  In  fact,  Dickens 
gave  a  novel  to  the  subject  about  this  time.  Just  as  soon 
as  Taylor  determined  that  this  was  the  kind  of  swindler  he 
wanted,  he  looked  up  everything  bearing  on  the  subject  un- 
til he  felt  satisfied  that  he  had  all  the  Material  that  would 
be  needed,  all  that  would  characterize  the  rascal.  Inciden- 
tally, he  had  to  look  up  his  algebra.  Suppose,  now,  that 
this  was  one  of  the  very  first  things  he  did  investigate.  Sup- 
pose that  he  had  not  even  thought  of  Potter  and  Mrs  Stern- 
hold,  or  any  of  the  incidents  of  the  Action ;  suppose  further, 
that  he  had  no  Plot  whatever  and  perhaps  no  definite  Pro- 
position, what  would  you  call  it  but  Material,  pure  and  sim- 
ple.? Just  as  truly  Material  as  that  Chaos  out  of  which  God 
made  the  world.  For  that  matter,  the  dramatist  begins 
gathering  his  Material  from  the  moment  he  selects  his 
Theme — or  his  Theme  selects  him,  which,  perhaps,  is  the 
better  way.  It  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  Tom  Tay- 
lor never  knew  what  "earthing  up  celery"  meant  before  he 
began  gathering  his  Material  for  this  play.  The  only  diflfer- 
ence  between  the  material  of  a  play,  and  the  Conditions 
Precedent  of  that  play  is,  that  the  Conditions  Precedent  are 
selected  from  the  general  Material,  and  so  made  specific. 
The  real  dramatist  goes  to  real  life.  He  will  find  every- 
thing there  waiting  for  him ;  he  does  not  create  everything, 
he  adapts  it.  If  those  characters  had  not  existed  in  real  life, 
this  play  would  never  have  been  written.  They  may  have 
had  characteristics  of  the  moment  which  Taylor  may  have 
been  the  first  dramatist  to  make  use  of,  but,  in  a  general 


30  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPIvE 


/ 


way,  they  existed  before  Taylor  was  born.  Go  back,  then, 
to  nature  for  your  Material,  and  trust  to  your  art  to  make 
use  of  it.  The  minerals  in  the  mines  have  to  be  delved  for. 
No  miner  can  manufacture  gold,  and  no  dramatist  can  cre- 
ate human  nature.  Your  play  must  have  substance.  You 
must  have  Material  in  order  to  have  everything  about 
something.  What  shall  bring  discord  into  the  family? 
What  shall  they  quarrel  about?  Surely,  they  could  quarrel 
about  innumerable  things.  The  causes  of  differences  are 
endless.  What  shall  they  be  in  this  case?  Is  it  not  worth 
while  to  determine  beforehand?  Does  he  not  have  to  work 
gradually  toward  a  given  end?  The  Material  that  he 
chooses  at  one  moment  he  may  have  to  lay  aside  provision- 
ally or  reject  entirely  the  next.  Taylor  did  not  want  a 
mother-in-law,  for  obvious  reasons.  He  was  not  writing 
a  play  in  which  he  would  have  to  contend  with  such  a  dis- 
turbing force.  So  he  did  not  select  that  Material.  That 
Material  was  before  him,  however.  The  mother-in-law 
would  have  required  her  to  have  been  the  Theme.  Mrs. 
Sternhold  was  formidable  enough.  Hawksley  says,  "Mag- 
nificent celery!  I  congratulate  you,  my  dear  Potter,  on  so 
horticultural  a  son-in-law;  it's  a  pursuit  at  once  innocent 
and  economical."  Potter  replies,  "Yes;  I  calculate  every 
bundle  costs  about  twice  as  much  as  in  Covent  Garden." 
That  is  all  on  that  subject  at  the  moment.  Hawksley  im- 
mediately turns  the  subject  to  the  allotment  of  the  shares. 
The  necessity  for  gradation  in  opening  the  scene  unques- 
tionably occurred  to  Taylor  at  the  time  of  writing  the  scene 
or  of  preparing  it,  but  it  is  almost  certain  that  the  remarks 
quoted  were  down  in  his  notes,  in  his  Material,  before  he 
saw  where  he  was  going  to  make  use  of  it.  Hawksley's 
method  of  paying  court  to  Emily  by  his  reference  to  Seville 
was  as  carefully  planned  beforehand  in  his  Material  by  the 
author  as  it  was  planned  by  Hawksley. 
/  The  way  to  get  at  substantial  things  is  to  get  them  in  a 
I  substantial  form  to  start  with.  Shakspere  almost  invaria- 
I   bly  had  material  to  work  from.    It  is  not  advised  that  you 


(UNWE^^^^"^  ) 


THE    MATEJRIAL  31 

find  your  story  or  Plot  ready  made,  but  the  foundations  of 
your  play  must  be  in  the  earth.  All  real  plays  are  largely" 
made  up  of  real  facts.  Observation  of  actual  things  may 
supply  the  Material.  "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  is 
a  real  play,  one  of  the  most  substantial  ever  written.  You 
feel  the  truth  of  everything  in  it  because  it  is  taken  from 
life.  We  have  seen  that  Bulwer,  although  he  was  accre- 
dited with  genius,  did  not  attempt  to  make  his  plays  out  of 
nothing,  that  is,  out  of  mere  imaginings  not  based  on  Facts. 
It  matters  not  where  Massinger  got  his  Material,  many 
of  the  combinations  he  made  of  that  Material  existed 
independent  of  Massinger  and  before  he  made  use  of  it. 
What  a  trivial  vanity  it  is  that  some  authors  have  that  they 
must  ''create"  everything,  spin  it  out  of  their  brains  without 
recourse  to  the  facts  of  the  world.  The  prototypes  of  those 
characters  were  personally  known  to  Massinger  before  he 
attempted  to  put  them  in  a  play,  and  where  his  acquaint- 
ance was  limited  he  instituted  investigation.  The  impres- 
sion left  by  this  play  is  that  Massinger  left  out  nothing  that 
was  essential  to  a  complete  picture.  He  knew  his  subject 
inside  and  out.  Sir  Giles  was  not  a  creature  of  the  imagi- 
nation. The  servants  at  Lady  Allworth's  lived.  They  came 
into  the  play  out  of  the  abundance  of  Massinger's  Mate- 
rial. It  was  his  art  that  enabled  him  to  use  them.  He  had 
them  in  mind  before  he  saw  what  he  could  do  with  them. 
This  illustrates  exactly  what  is  meant  by  Material  before 
it  is  converted  into  the  cloth  itself.  There  may  have  been  one 
Sir  Giles  Overreach  in  England  at  this  time ;  there  may  have 
been  ten,  twenty ;  the  evil  of  government  by  the  aristocracy, 
with  the  appointment  of  magistrates  to  do  their  bidding, 
may  have  been  a  crying  one.  The  play  was  about  some- 
thing. The  wrong  suffered  by  Master  Frugal  was  a  serious 
matter  as  representing  a  common  injustice. 

Frugal  omitted,  there  would  have  been  so  much  good 
Material  lost.  Frugal  and  the  gentlewoman  reduced  to  ser- 
vitude and  the  extortionate  creditors  of  Wellborn  not  ser- 
viceable for  the  building  of  the  main  structure,  were  yet 


32  ANALYSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

available  Material  as  rubble;  none  of  it  imaginary;  all  tan- 
gible and  so  substantial,  standing  up  like  a  Roman  viaduct 
constructed  so  as  to  defy  the  centuries?  Times  may  change, 
and  thank  God  they  do,  but  here  is  something  human,  the 
very  reality  of  which  gives  it  eternal  human  sympathy.  We 
got  but  a  glimpse  of  the  gentlewoman  serving  Margaret, 
but  we  pity  her  and  respect  her  as  Margaret  did.  Some 
might  call  that  a  small  part,  but  can  you  not  imagine  it 
played  by  an  actress  of  perfect  fitness  for  it,  capable  of 
flashing  to  us  that  heliograph  message  from  over  now  three 
centuries?  Material?  Of  course  it  is  Material.  What  a 
bountiful  provider  with  his  Material  was  Massinger !  How 
substantial  the  baked  meats,  the  stag,  the  fawn,  with  "Nor- 
folk dumpling  in  the  belly  of  it,"  the  woodcock,  the  butter- 
ed toast  and  all  the  savory  burden  of  the  table !  Massinger 
had  his  foot  on  his  native  soil  all  the  time.  England  for 
Englishmen  was  his  cry.  Cease  mere  dreaming  and  empty 
imaginings  and  reach  out  your  hand  for  the  Material  that 
lies  about  you  in  abundance.  Massinger's  observation,  sym- 
pathy, philosophy,  and  the  qualities  of  a  many  sided  nature 
are  here  in  this  play.  The  Material  lay  within  him  as  well 
as  without.  It  was  Subjective  as  well  as  Objective.  But 
his  sympathies  and  his  philosophy  were  based  on  external 
realities.  The  world  is  so  many  magnitudes  larger  than 
any  single  individual  that  you  can  do  no  better  than  to 
follow  the  example  of  Massinger  in  "A  New  Way  to  Pay 
Old  Debts,"  and  confine  yourself  to  your  own  horizon. 
Your  Material  is  within  reach  of  your  hand. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  CONDITIONS  PRECEDENT. 

The  Conditions  Precedent  are  those  Facts  and  conditions, 
active  or  passive,  which  exist  before  the  beginning  of  the 
Action  or  the  rise  of  the  curtain. 

They  are  a  part  of  the  inchoate  Material,  but  presently 
they  become  detachable,  require  a  name  or  term,  and  I  have 
elevated  them  into  a  principle.  We  do  not  know  immedi- 
ately in  considering  our  Material  at  what  point  our  Action 
shall  begin.  As  soon  as  we  determine  upon  that,  a  part  of 
the  Material  falls  into  the  past  and  cannot  be  represented  as 
happening,  but  must  be  introduced  into  the  movement  of 
the  play  according  to  the  demands  of  the  Action.  These 
Conditions  Precedent  are  not  to  be  told  all  at  once  on  the 
rise  of  the  curtain,  but  they  may  be  so  distributed  in  the  ac- 
tion that  they  may  be  more  active  in  their  new  relations 
than  in  their  past.  The  importance  of  this  principle  is  so 
great  that  I  give  more  space  to  it  than  it  may  seem  to  you, 
at  this  time,  to  require.  A  certain  amount  of  exercise  on  the 
principle  is  commended  as  a  means  of  gaining  a  habit  of 
mind  and  a  method  of  work.  After  reading  over  the  Condi- 
tions Precedent  assigned  to  the  other  plays,  take  up  "Ingo- 
mar,"  find,  all  the  Conditions  Precedent  in  it  and  note  how 
they  were  introduced  in  to  the  Action.  I  also  commend  for 
exercise  work  the  elaboration,  within  the  play  in  hand,  of 
every  solution  that  is  herein  given.  Take  Action  for  exam- 
ple. It  would  make  these  pages  too  voluminous  if  I  should 
give  every  illustration  in  a  single  play.  I  am  only  able  to 
show  you  how  to  analyze.  To  learn  rests  with  you.  Once 
you  know  the  way  take  the  initiative. 

We  shall  merely  point  out  to  you  the  way  of  discriminat- 
ing and  designating  those  facts  and  relations  existing  before 
the  rise  of  the  curtain  that  are  distinctly  Conditions  Prece- 
3 


34  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

dent.  We  leave  to  you  to  minutely  enumerate  Conditions 
Precedent  other  than  those  we  call  attention  to.  Before 
the  rise  of  the  curtain,  then,  in  ''The  Lady  of 
Lyons,"  Pauline  is  rich  and  proud,  the  daughter  of 
a  tradesman,  living  with  her  father  and  mother, 
much  sought  after  in  marriage,  for  she  is  beautiful,  and  is 
ambitious  to  marry  title  at  the  time  when  the  French  Revo- 
lution had  abolished  all  titles;  she  has  a  cousin,  Damas,  a 
colonel  in  the  army,  who  has  risen  from  the  ranks  in  two 
years,  and  he  is  democratic  and  not  in  sympathy  with 
the  pretension  of  Pauline  and  her  mtother.  She  has 
rejected  Glavis,  and  Beauseant  was  a  suitor,  a  man  who 
retained  all  the  pride  of  ancestry,  but  had  lost  his  title  in 
the  Revolution;  Claude  Melnotte,  the  son  of  the  widow  of 
the  gardener,  cultivated  and  known  from  his  manners  as 
"the  Prince,"  is  secretly  in  love  with  Pauline,  has  been  send- 
ing her  flowers,  and  believes  that,  in  the  social  conditions  of 
France,  his  suit  will  be  listened  to;  the  Innkeeper  has 
heard  of  all  this.  Melnotte  lives  in  a  cottage  with  his  moth- 
er, and  is  a  poet  and  painter ;  M.  Deschappelles  is  not  a  fac- 
tor in  his  household  in  social  matters.  The  state  of  the 
country  and  all  the  characters  and  their  relations  belong  to 
the  Conditions  Precedent.  From  these  Conditions  Prece- 
dent, the  Action  springs.  They  belong  to  the  Material,  but 
•not  until  Bulwer  determined  at  what  point  his  Action 
should  begin  did  they  become  while  still  remaining  Mate- 
rial, distinctly  Conditions  Precedent.  The  spiritual  things 
are  also  a  part  of  the  Material  and  Conditions  Precedent. 
Brooding  over  this  Material,  Bulwer  sooner  or  later  dis- 
covered the  luminous  point  about  which  the  Action  should 
center,  the  conflict  of  Love  and  Pride  under  the  conditions 
of  social  upheaval. 

In  "Camille,"  a  material  part  of  the  past  has  to  be 
translated  into  the  present.  Let  us  recount  the  conditions 
with  some  fullness.  Two  years  before  the  opening  of  the 
Action,  Camille,  after  a  long  illness,  determined  to  visit  the 
celebrated  waters  of  Bagneres,  to  recover,  if  possible,  her 


the:  conditions  precedent  35 

health.  Nanine  accompanied  her.  Among  the  invalids  at 
the  hotel  there  was  a  lovely  young  girl,  the  same  age  "as" 
Mademoiselle  Camille,  suffering  with  the  same  complaint, 
and  bearing  such  a  resemblance  to  her  that  wherever  they 
went  they  were  called  the  twin  sisters.  The  young  lady  was 
Mademoiselle  De  Meuriac,  daughter  of  the  Duke.  Made- 
moiselle De  Meuriac  died.  The  Duke  adopted  Camille  as 
his  child,  made  her  his  heiress,  and  introduced  her  into  soci- 
ety, where  she  was  loved  and  honored.  This  was  not  two 
years  since.  She  tried  to  please  the  world  in  which  the 
Duke  introduced  her  and  sought  to  gain  a  position  for  her. 
It  was  pitiful.  She  was  gentle,  so  childlike,  it  seemed  that 
the  spirit  of  the  dead  girl  had  left  its  innocence  with  her. 
Day  by  day  all  who  knew  her  grew  to  love  her.  The  Duke 
was  called  away.  In  his  absence,  the  story  of  her  past  life 
reached  the  circle  in  which  she  moved.  From  that  moment 
it  was  closed  against  her.  She  was  shunned;  and  in  their 
cruel  sneers  they  told  her  to  go  back  to  Paris  and  wear 
camelias.  She  did  return  to  Paris — met  old  friends — who 
gave  her  a  warm  welcome.  She  was  gayer  than  she  ever 
was  before.  People  wondered  why  she  tolerated  the  atten- 
tion of  the  old  Duke.  They  thought  it  strange  taste  because 
of  the  old  Duke's  tediousness.  But  Camille  had  a  tender 
regard  for  him.  He  finds  in  her  his  only  happiness  and  re- 
gards her  as  his  own  child.  He  supplies  her  with  money. 
Varville  and  others  do  not  take  that  view  of  their  relations. 
Camille  has  been  a  working  girl,  an  embroideress,  and  was 
very  fond  of  Nichette,  the  pet  name  of  a  girl  who  used  to 
work  in  the  same  room,  a  companion  of  hers.  Camille  made 
no  secret  of  this  part  of  her  life.  She  retained  her  old  friend- 
ship, and  now  that  she  was  supplied  with  money  she  gave 
employment  to  her  comrade.  When  she  returned  to  Paris, 
Camille  entered  upon  a  life  of  gaiety,  and  was  often  at  the 
opera.  She  is  a  disappointed  woman,  caring  for  no  man. 
But  she  is  given  to  luxury.  Olimpe,  Gaston,  Prudence 
and  Gustave  are  friends  of  Camille,  with  characters  as  set 
iorth  in  the  Action  after  it  begins.    Varville  is  very  rich,  a 


2,6  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE: 

new  suitor,  persistent.  Camille  is  known  as  the  Queen  of 
Camelias,  and  is  fifty  thousand  francs  in  debt.  Varville  has 
offered  to  pay  her  debts.  Camille  has  told  him  a  hundred 
times  that  she  does  not  want  to  hear  of  his  love.  Prudence 
lives  as  a  neighbor  in  a  house  with  windows  opposite  to 
Camille's.  She  is  a  milliner,  with  but  one  customer — Ca- 
mille. She  "is  a  good  soul,  with  a  heart  as  light  as  her 
purse."  Armand  Duval  is  the  son  of  a  gruff,  crusty  old  gen- 
tleman, who  was  sometime  Receiver-General  at  Tours.  The 
family  is  one  of  distinction,  moving  in  the  best  circles.  His 
mother  is  dead.  He  is  not  the  only  child ;  he  has  a  sister,  a 
sister  whom  he  loves.  Armand  has  been  madly  in  love  with 
Camille  for  the  last  two  years ;  when  she  was  ill,  before  she 
went  to  Bagneres,  confined  to  her  bed  for  three  months,  a 
young  man  who  would  never  leave  his  name  called  every 
day  to  learn  how  she  was.  She  was  told  of  this  at  the  time. 
It  was  Armand.  Camille's  malady  still  exists.  When  she 
has  her  attacks  she  is  better  alone.  Her  feverish  excitement 
in  her  mode  of  life  is  bringing  her  to  the  grave.  The  Duke 
allows  her  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year.  She  is  a  woman 
of  the  world — friendless — fearless,  loved  by  those  whose 
vanity  she  gratifies — despised  by  those  who  ought  to  pity 
her.  She  has  heard  all  kinds  of  protestations  of  love,  and  is 
inclined  to  believe  none  of  them.  Armand  has  worshipped 
her  in  silence;  he  has  cherished  for  six  months  a  little  but- 
ton which  fell  from  her  glove.  Camille's  companions  are 
gay;  they  indulge  in  all  sorts  of  revelry.  They  sing  and 
dance;  they  have  much  gossip  between  them;  they  are  ut- 
terly frivolous  and  selfish.  Olimpe  is  a  gourmand.  Camille 
has  learned  her  lesson  of  rejection  by  society,  and  does  not 
harbor  the  remotest  hope  of  regaining  position.  Her  own 
estimate  of  herself  is  firm;  she  does  not  consider  herself 
worthy  of  a  good  man's  love.  She  is  not  in  a  state  of  mind 
to  entertain  the  thought  of  it  at  the  time  the  Action  begins. 
She  regards  no  protestations  of  the  sort  seriously.  She  has 
had  moments  when  visions  of  a  future  flitted  across  her 
brain.    "Every  heart  has  its  silent  hours,  and  so  has  mine ; 


THE  CONDITIONS  PRECEDENT  37 

and  in  those  hours  I  often  sit  and  think  there  is  a  happier 
life  than  the  one  I  lead,  if  I  could  find  it.  I  think  if  I  can 
lend  a  charm  to  such  a  life  as  this,  and  win  the  admiration 
and  respect  of  the  worthless  crowd  who  follows  me,  what 
would  it  be  in  the  sacred  circle  of  a  home,  among  those  who 
loved  and  cherished  me?  Can  such  a  future  be  in  store  for 
me,  I  ask?  and  then  the  past  spreads  over  me  like  a  pall.  A 
merry  laugh  bursts  forth  in  mockery,  and  I  am  gay  again." 
Camille's  condition  of  mind  is  further  described.  Nichette 
is  engaged  to  Gustave.  Nichette  is  a  good  girl ;  Camille  re- 
gards her  with  tender  interest  because  of  this.  Nichette  has 
often  said  to  Gustave  that  she  wished  Camille  would  meet 
with  some  one  who  would  love  and  cherish  her — who  would 
win  her  from  the  feverish  life  she  was  leading;  and  teach 
her  contentment  in  one  more  tranquil  and  enduring.  Ni- 
chette is  very  happy  with  Gustave.  They  live  in  two  cham- 
bers in  the  fifth  story,  in  the  Rue  la  Blanche — a  window 
that  overlooks  half  Paris — "a  trellis  where  I  have  planted  a 
geranium,  the  first  flower  Gustave  ever  gave  me — and  how 
it  grows !  No  wonder,  for  I  sit  and  sew  by  it,  and  watch  it 
all  day."  The  home  is  cozy — just  large  enough  to  hold  con- 
tent. Gustave  is  a  lawyer,  and  has  just  had  his  first  case,  in 
which  his  client  was  condemned  to  ten  years  imprisonment. 
A  condition  precedent  to  the  scene  between  Camille  and 
Duval  is  that  Armand's  sister  is  engaged  to  be  married. 
It  is  a  love  that  has  been  the  dream  of  her  life.  But  the 
family  of  the  man  has  learned  of  the  relations  between  Ar- 
mand  and  Camille,  and  declared  the  withdrawal  of  their  con- 
sent unless  the  relations  were  given  up.  This  withdrawal, 
of  course,  does  not  belong  to  the  Conditions  Precedent  be- 
fore the  beginning  of  the  Action,  but  like  them  this  condi- 
tion does  not  have  to  be  acted  out,  but  has  to  be  made  of 
the  present.  That  Armand  has  written  a  letter  to  his  law- 
yer directing  him  to  dispose  of  the  gift  of  property  from  his 
dead  mother,  and  that  the  father  is  angry  with  him  for  it,  is 
a  condition  of  this  sort.  It  has  arisen  during:  the  Action,  but 
it  does  not  have  to  be  acted  out,  for  we  accept  the  facts  as 


38  ANAIvYSiS  O^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

logical.  The  last  act  contains  only  Conditions  Precedent 
which  have  arisen  during  the  Action ;  that  is  to  say,  there 
is  nothing  new  in  the  way  of  Conditions  Precedent  to  the 
beginning  of  the  Action  of  the  play  itself.  It  will  be  ob- 
served, however,  that  certain  things  have  happened  or  may 
happen  as  Conditions  Precedent,  but  these  Conditions  are 
always  logical  and  do  not  require  proof.  The  conditions  pre- 
cedent of  Character  exist,  of  course,  before  the  rise  of  the 
curtain,  but  they  may  be  referred  to  the  study  which  the  au- 
thor makes  of  them.  All  this  belongs  to  the  careful  prepara- 
tion made  by  the  author  and  represented  in  his  notes.  He 
makes  sure  of  his  ground.  He  does  not  wait  to  invent  his 
Condition  Precedent  as  he  goes  along. 

The  Conditions  Precedent  in  the  material  of  "Still 
Waters  Run  Deep"  are  uncommonly  numerous.  The 
criminality  of  Hawksley  in  forging  two  bills  existed 
four  years  before  the  beginning  of  the  Action.  If 
we  should  set  down  here  all  the  details  of  this  affair, 
we  should  have  to  quote  in  almost  its  entirety  Mild- 
rnJ&y's  account  of  it  to  Hawksley.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
do  so  here,  but  the  student  should  take  the  trouble  in  one 
or  two  plays  to  give  every  particle  of  the  Conditions  Prece- 
dent, for  it  is  practice  work  in  retracing  the  steps  of  the 
author.  He  was  compelled  to  be  definite.  One  should  fortify 
himself  against  doubts  before  he  reaches  the  critical  mo- 
ment where  everything  depends  upon  the  selection  of  the 
facts.  The  Conditions  Precedent  have  to  be  shaped  before 
one  begins  to  write  a  play ;  he  cannot  safely  proceed  without 
them.  The  Process  of  thought  in  gathering  the  material  and 
shaping  the  Conditions  Precedent  is  a  part  of  the  work  de- 
signed to  facilitate  execution.  If  one  does  not  work  by 
method  and  does  not  shape  his  Conditions  Precedent,  he 
may  be  compelled  to  remodel  the  structure  of  his  play  con- 
tinually while  writing,  whereas  he  should  be  freed  from  all 
anxieties  when  he  wTites,  for  he  has  enough  to  attend  to 
without  being  disturbed  by  things  which  should  have  been 
settled.    It  is  in  passing  this  material  through  the  alembic  of 


the:  conditions  prkckdent  39 

the  mind  that  the  facts  become  definite.  The  chyle  is  con- 
verted into  blood.  It  is  not  often  that  a  play  can  be  written 
off-hand,  wtihout  this  process  of  preliminary  thought.  In  a 
way,  a  play  is  rehearsed  in  the  mind  or  "written"  over  and 
over  again.  If  this  process  is  not  pursued,  the  play  may  be 
"finished,"  and  then  follows  the  foolish  labor  of  having  to 
actually  re-write  the  play,  or,  as  sometimes  is  the  case,  to 
write  another  play  out  of  the  same  material.  The  result  is 
that  when  a  play  is  written  in  the  slipshod  manner  of  those 
who  do  not  do  any  thinking  or  collecting  of  material,  their 
finished  play  is  after  all  merely  material.  It  is  not  a  play  at 
all. 

It  is  easy  to  surmise  some  of  the  operations  of  the  dramat- 
ist's mind  in  shaping  some  of  the  Conditions  Precedent  in 
this  play.  For  instance,  the  material  may  have  been  got 
into  some  order,  the  attempt  of  Hawksley  against  Emily 
may  have  become  sharply  defined,  and  then  it  probably 
occurred  to  the  author  that  it  would  be  harsh  or  repulsive 
and  vulgar  if  Emily  had  not  been  acquainted  with  Hawks- 
ley  before  her  marriage.  Hence  comes  the  touch  that  oper- 
ates in  the  Conditions  in  the  talk  between  Potter  and  Mrs. 
Sternhold.  It  is  of  the  Conditions  Precedent  that  Hawksley 
is  considered  a  gentleman.  He  is  a  man  of  the  world,  a 
dead  shot  who  can  snuff  a  candle  at  twenty  paces;  he  is 
exceedingly  crafty  and  brilliant  at  figures  in  a  financial 
transaction.  Potter  has  every  confidence  in  him.  Hawks- 
ley is  vastly  agreeable,  "the  sort  of  man  one's  always  glad 
to  see."  He  has  shown  some  penchant  for  Emily  before  her 
marriage,  as  Mrs.  Sternhold  says;  and  if,  as  Potter  says, 
Mrs.  Sternhold  had  not  set  her  face  against  it,  Emily  and 
Hawksley  might  have  made  a  match  of  it.  Mrs.  Sternhold 
had  always  thought  that  Emily  had  no  fancy  for  Hawksley. 
Before  the  Action  begins  Potter  has  seen  some  evidence  of 
the  familiarity  between  Emily  and  Hawksley  which  has 
caused  him  to  suspect  their  relations.  They  have  been  very 
careful  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Sternhold,  and  she  has  not 
had  an  opportunity  to  see  it ;  but  they  have  paid  no  attention 


40  ■  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

to  Potter,  ("they  don't  mind  him/')  He  has  intended  to 
talk  to  Emmy  about  it  ever  so  long,  the  Conditions  Prece- 
dent existing  for  a  long  time — "but  he  didn't  like  to."  Pot- 
ter has  been  in  the  habit  of  taking  the  "Globe" — the  paper 
published  yet — when  the  postman  comes  and  going  to  the 
library  to  read  it.  We  have  seen  also  that  he  is  in  the  habit 
of  falling  asleep  in  the  afternoon  after  dinner,  but  that  he 
would  never  admit  it.  How  many  glimpses  of  the  present 
and  the  past  conditions  of  life  in  the  household  we  get  by 
these  little  touches  introduced  in  a  living  way  in  the  Action 
of  the  moment;  Potter  has  always  thought  it  was  a  great 
comfort  to  have  such  a  superior  sister  in  the  house ;  she  has 
always  saved  him  so  much  trouble  in  making  up  his  mind. 
Hawksley  has  given  Bran,  the  mastiff,  to  Emily,  and  Bran 
knows  his  old  master.  Emily  always  sits  up  late  reading 
"in  this  room."  The  eight  thousand  pounds  under  Emmy's 
settlement  should  have  been  paid  by  Potter  two  months 
ago.  Mildmay  knows  that  Potter  has  invested  some  of  the 
money  for  him,  "thinking  that  he  would  not  object."  In 
fact,  Hawksley  had  told  it  to  Mildmay  last  night  in  trying 
to  persuade  him  to  invest  more,  urging  that  Potter  thought 
well  of  the  investment.  Mildmay  has  been  having  Gimlet 
look  matters  up.  You  can  find  many  more  Conditions  Pre- 
cedent in  the  play  and  convince  yourself  that  they  were 
thought  out,  for  the  most  part,  before  the  writing  of  the 
play." 

Shakspere  bodies  forth  the  time.  Massinger  does  the 
same  thing  in  "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts."  While  the 
dramatic  art  in  it  is  strong,  it  is  not  a  play  of  mere  expe- 
diencies, or  complication  or  situation  for  the  mere  sake  of 
complication  and  situation.  It  is  built  of  substantial  mate- 
rial and  is  itself  solid. 

Let  us  consider  the  state  of  affairs  and  some  of  the  Condi- 
tions Precedent  before  the  beginning  of  the  Action :  Well- 
born has  been  reduced  to  poverty  partly  by  his  riotous  liv- 
ing and  excesses  in  drink,  and  is  "threadbare  and  tattered." 
Tapwell,  the  innkeeper,  has  profited  by  the  prodigality  of 


THK  CONDITIONS  PRE:CEDENT  4I 

the  spendthrift.  He  was  born  on  Wellborn's  father's  land, 
"and  proud  to  be  a  drudge  in  his  house."  When  WellbornV 
father  died  the  estate  came  to  him,  and  Tapwell  became  his 
under  butler.  Wellborn  soon  ran  through  his  land,  his 
"credit  not  worth  a  token,"  he  grew  a  common  borrower 
from  everybody,  "no  man  escaped"  him.  Poor  Tim  Tapwell, 
with  a  little  stock,  some  forty  pounds  or  so,  bought  a  small 
cottage,  and  humbled  himself  to  a  marriage  with  Froth. 
He  is  an  "ungrateful  hound,"  is  this  Tapwell.  Wellborn 
had  "made  purse"  for  him  in  his  day  of  prosperity,  and 
Tapwell  licked  his  boots,  and  thought  his  holiday  cloak  was 
too  coarse  to  clean  his  young  master's  boots  with.  Why, 
man,  it  was  Wellborn  himself  who  gave  Tapwell  the  money 
needed  to  make  up  the  sum  required  for  the  purchase  of 
the  inn.  The  way  it  came  about  was  that  Wellborn  had 
heard  him  say  or  rather  swear  "If  ever  he  could  arrive  at 
forty  pounds,  he  would  live  like  an  emperor,"  and  the 
young  prodigal  gave  him  the  wherewithal  in  "ready  gold." 
Oh,  this  Tapwell  was  a  wretch  from  his  natal  day,  a  "viper, 
thankless  viper."  Wellborn  had  beggared  himself  to  make 
such  rascals  rich.  Of  course  he  should  not  have  dissipated 
his  patrimony  thus.  Old  Sir  John  Wellborn,  the  quondam 
master  of  Tapwell,  Wellborn's  father,  "was  a  man  of  wor- 
ship, bore  the  whole  sway  of  the  shire,  kept  a  great  house, 
relieved  the  poor,  and  so  forth."  He  died  and  left  his 
estate  to  his  son,  who  then  becomes  "a  lord  of  acres,  the 
prime  gallant."  He  had  a  merry  time  of  it;  hawks  and 
hounds,  with  choice  of  running  horses ;  mistresses  and  such 
other  extravagances;  which  his  uncle.  Sir  Giles  Overreach, 
observing,  resolved  not  to  lose  the  opportunity,  on  statutes, 
mortgages,  the  binding  bonds,  awhile  supplied  his  folly,  and, 
having  got  his  land,  then  left  him.  Wellborn  has  a  friend 
in  Allworth,  whose  stepmother.  Lady  Allworth,  since  his 
father's  death,  has  been  a  deep  mourner,  and,  by  reason  of 
love  for  the  dead  father,  favors  the  son  so  that  he  feels  that 
he  cannot  pay  too  much  observance  to  her.  There  were  few 
stepdames  as  she.     She  is  a  noble  widow,  and  keeps  her 


42  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI^E: 

reputation  pure  and  clear.  She  has  suitors  in  abundance, 
e'en  the  best  in  the  shire,  such  as  sue  and  send  and  send 
and  sue  again;  but  to  no  purpose.  Their  frequent  visits 
have  not  gained  her  presence.  Yet  she  is  far  from  sullen- 
ness  and  pride.  She  is  about  thirty,  I  think,  not  too  old 
for  a  suitable  match  with  Wellborn  if  her  love  had  lit  on 
him ;  charmingly  gracious,  hospitable  to  a  degree  naturally, 
but  she  has  a  house  full  of  retainers  and  all  the  means  at 
her  command  to  maintain  her  estate.  To  know  her  was  to 
love  her.  You  would  have  been  charmed,  I  am  sure.  She 
possessed  an  accomplishment  that  befitted  her  station,  she 
was  a  good  housekeeper.  Her  authority  was  maintained 
with  dignity.  A  woman  of  great  resolution  of  character 
was  Lady  Allworth.  Wellborn  was  older  than  Allworth; 
it  was  Allworth's  father  who  was  Wellborn's  friend  first. 
Young  Allorth  is  in  love  with  Margaret,  the  daughter  of 
Sir  Giles.  Wellborn  has  heard  of  this  love.  .  He  knows  of 
Allworth's  "walking  in  the  clouds."  Allworth  recognizes 
the  character  of  the  base  churl,  her  father ;  but  he  feels  that, 
"if  ever  the  queen  of  flowers,  the  boast  of  spring,  the  rose, 
sprang  from  the  envious  briar,"  there  is  a  disparity  between 
the  goddess  of  his  soul  and  Sir  Giles.  The  old  cormorant 
has  ruined  the  state  of  both  these  young  men.  Why,  Sir 
Giles,  "to  make  his  daughter  great  in  swelling  titles,  with- 
out touch  of  conscience  will  cut  his  neighbor's  throat." 
Young  Allworth  is  a  boy  that  lives  at  the  devotion  of  a 
stepmother  and  the  uncertain  favor  of  Lord  Lovell.  These 
servants  of  Lady  Allworth's,  I  think,  would  have  been  in 
better  discipline  if  their  mistress  had  not  withdrawn  from 
society  and  abandoned  entertaining.  Furnace  no  doubt  was 
getting  his  wages  regularly,  but  he  was  engaged  to  please 
her  palate,  and  now  she  had  even  foresworn  eating.  When 
he  "cracks  his  brains  to  find  out  tempting  sauces,  when 
he  is  three  parts  roasted,  and  the  fourth  part  parboiled,  to 
prepare  her  viands,  she  keeps  her  chamber,  dines  with  a 
panada,  or  water  gruel,  his  sweat  never  thought  on."  Still,, 
there  are  harpies  who  come  to  feed  on  her,  pretending  to 


the:  conditions  pr£;cedent  43 

love  her;  particularly  a  thin-gutted  squire  "that's  stolen 
into  commission."  Meat's  cast  away  on  this  Justice  Greedy, 
"his  stomach's  as  insatiate  as  the  grave."  All  this  makes 
Furnace  so  angry  that  when  provoked,  he  is  even  angry 
at  his  prayers.  This  Lady  Bountiful  has  many  servants,  and 
idle  times  were  on  them  so  they  got  fat  and  saucy.  There 
was  Order,  the  steward,  who  had  his  stafif  of  office,  a  chain 
and  double  ruff,  symbols  of  power.  Why,  goodness  alive,  if 
any  of  the  servants  under  him  missed  his  function  he  made 
him  forfeit  his  breakfast  and  denied  him  the  privilege  in 
the  wine  cellar.  Amble  was  my  Lady's  gobefore.  About 
all  the  servants  had  to  do  at  this  particular  time  was  to 
wrangle.  No  hurt  was  meant  in  it  all.  Allworth  was  his 
father's  picture  in  little,  and  the  servants  respected  him. 
Lady  Allworth  had  her  maids,  I  warrant  you.  "Sort  those 
silks  well.  I'll  take  the  air  alone."  Allworth's  master. 
Lord  Lovell,  a  soldier,  was  about  to  go  to  the  Low  Coun- 
tries. But  it  is  plain  that  he  has  a  weather  eye  on  our 
Lady  Bountiful,  and,  first  having  deputized  Allworth  to 
kiss  her  Ladyship's  fair  hands,  intends  to  present  his  ser- 
vice in  person.  Lady  Allworth  looks  with  great  favor  on 
young  Allworth,  and  leaves  to  him  his  course  of  conduct. 
Allworth  is  much  devoted  to  Lord  Lovell.  Still  she  is 
always  ready  to  give  him  good  advice,  for  her  ever  honored 
husband,  some  few  hours  before  the  will  of  heaven  took 
him  from  her,  recommended  him  to  her  charge  by  the 
dearest  ties  of  love  between  them.  Naturally,  Allworth 
was  bound  to  listen  to  her  with  much  respect  as  if  his 
father  lived  in  her.  She  had  showered  many  bounties  on 
Allworth;  he  will  do  whatever  she  says.  The  father's 
message  to  his  son,  in  case  he  followed  the  war,  was  that 
it  is  a  school  where  all  the  principles  tending  to  honor  are 
taught ;  not  a  place  for  those  who  repair  thither  to  presume 
that  they  may  with  license  practice  their  lawless  riots;  for 
then  they  would  not  merit  the  noble  name  of  soldiers.  No ; 
he  wanted  his  son  to  obey  his  leaders  and  shun  mutinies; 
to  bear  with    patience   the   winter's    cold   and     summer's 


44  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E 

scorching  heat;  to  dare  boldly  in  a  fair  cause;  and,  far 
country's  sake,  to  run  upon  the  cannon's  mouth  undaunted. 
That  was  what  the  old  man  thought,  rest  his  soul ;  for  these 
were  the  essential  parts  that  made  up  a  soldier ;  not  swear- 
ing, dice,  or  drinking.  Again,  AUworth  was  to  beware  of  ill 
company.  It  was  a  wise  dead  man  who  was  telling  these 
tales;  for  men  are  like  to  those  with  whom  they  converse. 
Lady  Allworth  had  certainly  been  thinking  of  Wellborn 
before  the  curtain  rose,  for  she  had  no  regard  for  him ;  his 
manners  are  so  depraved;  it  is  not  because  he  is  poor,  for 
that  rather  claims  her  pity;  but  the  poor  fellow  has  lost 
himself  in  vicious  courses.  She  is  well  aware  that  her  late 
husband,  Allworth's  father,  loved  Wellborn,  while  he  was 
worthy  of  loving,  but  the  late  Allworth,  senior,  would  cast 
Wellborn  off  now.  She  most  certainly  had  it  in  for  Well- 
born— before  the  curtain  rises.  Ah,  here  is  an  interesting 
Condition  Precedent:  Six  days  since  there  came  from  Hull 
a  pipe  of  rich  Canary,  which  shall  spend  itself,  vital  and 
generous  wine  that  it  is,  for  my  Lady's  honor.  It  is  of  the 
right  race.  Besides,  there  came  last  night,  from  the  forest 
of  Sherwood,  the  fattest  stag  that  Furnace  ever  cooked. 
In  fact,  a  part  of  it  had  been  prepared  for  dinner — before 
the  curtain  rises,  and  baked  in  puff-paste.  Sir  Giles  is 
generally  accompanied  by  Marrall,  his  man  of  affairs,  and 
Justice  Greedy,  who  is  ready  to  put  off  the  trial  of  a  case 
at  any  time  for  the  trial  of  a  dinner,  according  to  statute, 
Hemici  decimo  quarto.  Greedy  is  ever  ready  to  grant 
any  warrant  called  for  by  his  master,  the  cormorant  of  for- 
tunes, he  the  glutton  of  food.  Wellborn  is  proud  in  spite 
of  his  rags.  He  has  no  humbleness  before  servants.  He 
knows  that  blood  runs  in  his  veins  as  noble  as  that  which 
swells  the  veins  of  Lady  Bountiful.  Before  the  curtain  rose 
on  the  second  act,  no  doubt,  Wellborn  intended  to  call  on 
Lady  Allworth.  He  knew  what  he  was  going  to  say  to  her. 
Was  not  Lady  Allworth's  late  husband  once  in  his  fortune 
almost  as  low  as  Wellborn  is  now?  Wants,  debts,  and 
quarrels,  lay  heavy  on  him.    Did  not  Wellborn  relieve  him? 


the:  conditions  precedent  45 

Did  not  Wellborn's  sword  on  all  occasions  second  his? 
and  when  in  all  men's  judgment  he  was  sunk,  and  in  his- 
own  hopes  not  to  be  buoyed  up,  did  not  Wellborn  step  unto 
him,  take  him  by  the  hand,  and  set  him  upright?  Of  course 
he  did.  Lady  Allworth  knew  it  all  the  time,  and  Wellborn 
knew  she  knew  it,  and  everybody  knew  it,  and  Wellborn  is 
going  to  tell  her  "lest  she  forget."  Lady  Bountiful  surely 
had  forgotten  a  few  details  concerning  her  late  husband. 
In  point  of  fact,  she  made  him  master  of  her  estate  when  he 
was  little  better  off  than  Wellborn  is.  She  married  him 
on  his  shape,  but  "to  that  shape  a  mind  made  up  of  all 
parts,  either  great  or  noble,  so  winning  a  behavior,  not  to 
be  resisted,  madam."  He  knew  where  he  would  hit  her. 
He  had  the  facts  on  her.  You  may  rely  on  it  that  when  she 
is  reminded  of  these  facts  about  her  late  husband  she  is 
going  to  help  Wellborn,  it  matters  not  what  she  thought 
before  the  rise  of  the  curtain.  He  is  not  going  to  borrow 
sixpence  of  her.  He  intends  to  touch  her  for  something 
large.  He  is  going  to  ask  her  to  "quit  all  his  owings,  set 
him  trimly  forth,  and  furnished  well  with  gold."  Let  us 
all  hope  that  he  will  prosper  in  his  design  to  have  Sir  Giles 
believe  that  Lady  Allworth  has  taken  him  into  her  favor 
as  a  suitor.  I  do  hope  Sir  Giles  will  fall  into  the  trap.  He 
is  such  a  scoundrel,  the  forerunner  and  prototype  of  the 
magnates  who  form  trusts,  employ  rascally  lawyers,  bribe 
legislatures,  and  the  like.  He  has  no  mercy  on  the  weak. 
He  ruins  all  the  poor  farmers.  It  was  for  "these  good  ends" 
he  made  Greedy  a  justice.  "He  that  bribes  his  belly,  is 
certain  to  command  his  soul."  The  reason  he  put  the  thin- 
gut  in  commission  was  that  he  himself,  not  being  a  justice, 
is  out  of  danger.  If  he  himself  were  a  justice,  besides  the 
trouble,  he  might,  out  of  wilfulness,  or  error,  run  himself 
into  a  praemunire,  and  so  become  a  prey  to  the  informer. 
No,  Sir  Giles  would  have  none  of  it.  He  had  Greedy  to 
take  all  the  risks  and  serve  his  purpose;  "Let  him  hang, 
or  damn,  I  care  not;  friendship  is  but  a  word"!  He  does 
not  value  anything  but  worldly  wisdom;   "for  the  other 


46  ANAIvYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

wisdom  that  does  prescribe  us  a  well-governed  life,  and  to 
do  right  to  others,  as  ourselves,  I  value  not  an  atom."  He 
must  have  all  men  sellers  and  he  the  only  purchaser.  He 
has  thought  of  a  way  to  ruin  Master  Frugal,  who,  it  is  said, 
will  not  sell,  nor  borrow,  nor  exchange ;  and  his  land,  lying 
in  the  midst  of  his  many  lordships,  is  a  foul  blemish.  He 
will  buy  some  cottage  near  his  manor;  which  done,  "m 
make  my  men  break  ope'  his  fences,  ride  over  his  standing 
corn,  and  in  the  night  set  fire  to  his  barns,  or  break  his 
cattle's  legs;  these  trespasses  draw  on  suits,  and  suits  ex- 
penses, which  I  can  spare,  but  will  soon  beggar  him.  When 
I  have  harried  him  thus  two  or  three  year,  though  he  sue 
in  forma  pauperis,  in  spite  of  all  his  thrift  and  care,  he'll 
grow  behind-hand."  Here  is  a  fit  opportunity  for  you  to 
establish  your  conviction  that  this  is  not  an  idle  gathering 
together  of  facts  from  the  play  but  that  they  are  the  things 
that  were  thought  out  before  a  line  of  the  play  was  written. 
What  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  immediate  Action  as  it  con- 
cerns the  Plot  and  Wellborn?  In  what  way  is  Master 
Frugal  concerned  with  the  fortunes  of  our  young  spend- 
thrift who  has  invented  a  new  way  to  pay  old  debts  ?  They 
are  Conditions  that  make  the  weave  thick  and  strong.  W> 
may  even  call  them  passive  Conditions  Precedent,  hardly 
of  the  Action  of  the  Plot,  but  still  of  the  Action.  The  scene 
and  other  details  never  in  the  world  came  into  existence  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment,  but  by  premeditation.  "Then,  with 
the  favor  of  my  man  of  law,  I  will  pretend  some  title ;  want 
will  force  him  to  put  it  to  arbitrament;  then,  if  he  sell  of 
half  the  value,  we  shall  have  ready  money,"  (just  as  mod- 
ern as  Ready  Money  Mortiby),  "and  I  have  his  land."  Sir 
Giles  has  been  wondering  all  the  while  how  it  is  that  cold 
nor  hunger  will  kill  Frank  Wellborn.  It  is  a  parlous  thing, 
for  Marrall  caused  his  host,  the  tapster,  last  night,  to  turn 
him  out  of  doors,  and  has  been  since  among  all  the  friends 
and  tenants  of  Sir  Giles  to  charge  them,  on  the  forfeit  of 
the  favor  of  the  great  man,  not  to  relieve  him,  though  a 
crust  of  mouldy  bread  would  keep  him  from  starving.    This 


TH^  CONDITIONS  PRECEDENT  47 

he  did  before  the  curtain  rose,  you  will  see.  Lord  Lovell, 
the  gallant-minded,  the  popular  Lord,  is  the  minion  of  the~ 
people's  love.  Sir  Giles  has  had  his  eye  on  him  as  a  match 
for  his  daughter.  His  ambition  is  to  have  her  marry  a 
title,  to  be  honorable,  right  honorable;  and  he  is  willing 
to  give  his  ill-gotten  gains  to  this  end.  He  has  long  har- 
bored this  thought.  It  is  a  relief  to  his  sordidness,  a  bit  of 
humanity  in  him.  But  he  is  pitiless  in  the  means  which  he 
will  use.  He  will  have  her  well  attended  in  the  estate 
which  he  shall  procure  for  her.  "There  are  ladies  of  errant 
knights  decayed,  and  brought  so  low,  that,  for  cast  clothes 
and  meats,  will  gladly  serve  her;  and  'tis  my  glory,  though 
I  come  from  the  city,  to  have  their  issue,  whom  I  have 
undone,  to  kneel  to  mine,  as  bond  slaves."  He  will  not 
have  a  chambermaid  that  ties  her  shoes,  or  any  meaner 
office,  but  such  whose  fathers  were  right  worshipful.  "  'Tis 
a  rich  man's  pride!  There  having  ever  been  more  than  a 
strange  antipathy,"  between  men  like  him  and  true 
gentry.  It  may  be  well  to  observe  that  Wellborn  is  the  son 
of  Sir  Giles'  sister.  Surely  there  is  a  touch  of  tenderness 
in  this  for  any  but  a  heart  of  flint  as  Uncle.  Wellborn's 
given  name  is  Frank,  if  you  please.  Massinger  knew  it 
before  the  curtain  rose  and  poor  Frank's  highest  wish  on 
Sundays  used  to  be  "cheese-parings  and  brown  bread." 
Yesterday,  you  thought  yourself  well  in  a  barn,  "wrapped 
up  in  pease-straw."  Marrall  knows  the  stable  of  Lady 
Allworth,  and  has  never  dreamt  of  dining  at  her  table.  Sir 
Giles,  by  the  way,  lived  in  state  himself,  spending  his  ill- 
gained  money  in  his  ambition  for  his  daughter.  This  Sir 
Giles  himself  feeds  high ;  keeps  many  servants,  rich  in  his 
habit,  vast  in  his  expenses.  No  wonder,  he  frights  men 
out  of  their  estates,  and  breaks  through  all  law  nets,  made 
to  curb  all  men,  as  they  were  cobwebs.  No  man  dares  re- 
prove him,  such  a  spirit  to  dare  and  power  to  do,  were 
never  lodged  so  unluckily.  No  doubt  many  a  usurer  today 
is  good  to  his  family.  If  Wellborn  succeeded  in  marrying 
Lady  Allworth  he  would  come  into  possession  of  a  glebe 


48  ANALYSIS  or  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

land  called  Knave's  Acre.  Sir  Giles  is  somewhat  inclined 
to  grow  stout,  and  is  not  disinclined  to  walk  instead  of 
riding  at  times,  so  that  he  may  keep  "from  being  pursy." 
Sir  Giles  has  attempted  to  see  the  widow  TEN  TIMES 
since  the  death  of  her  husband,  and  has  been  unable  to  get 
audience,  though  he  came  as  suitor.  Allworth  has  trusted 
Lord  Lovell  with  his  soul's  nearest,  nay,  Margaret's  dearest 
secret,  and  he  will  keep  it  as  in  a  cabinet  locked,  treachery 
shall  never  open  it.  He  has  found  Allworth  more  jealous 
in  his  love  and  service  to  him  than  he  has  been  in  his  re- 
wards. The  fact  is.  Lord  Lovell  has  been  more  of  a  father 
to  him  than  a  master.  Lord  Lovell  has  been  untainted  in 
all  his  Actions,  and  he  will  be  faithful  to  Allworth  when  he 
meets  Margaret  although  she  has  wealth  and  beauty.  Sir 
Giles  Overreach  has  heaps  of  ill-got  gold,  and  as  much  land 
as  would  tire  a  falcon's  wings  in  one  day  to  fly  over.  It  is 
about  a  half  hour's  ride  from  the  outskirts  of  Lady  All  worth's 
park  to  Overreach's  house.  Margaret  is  attended  by  Lady 
Downfallen  as  a  servant;  she  likes  her  better  as  a  com- 
panion. She  pities  her  state.  Margaret  is  virtuous,  not  a 
woman  to  agree  to  what  is  in  her  father's  mind  as  to  her 
conduct  toward  Lord  Lovell.  Margaret  is  modest  too; 
she  recognizes  that  she  "is  of  low  descent,  however  rich." 
Sir  Giles  has  forbidden  Allworth  in  his  house;  he  knew  of 
the  affair  between  him  and  his  daughter.  We  must  not 
forget,  among  the  Conditions  Precedent,  Wellborn's  "in- 
ward linings" — "Howe'er  his  outside's  coarse,  his  inward 
linings  are  as  fine  and  fair  as  any  man's."  He  has  pawned 
a  trunk  of  rich  clothes  before  the  rise  of  the  curtain.  It  is 
four  miles  from  Sir  Giles'  manor-house  to  Lady  Allworth's. 
As  it  was  one  mile  from  the  park  gate,  it  must  be  three 
miles  within  the  grounds.  Sir  Giles  wears  a  signet  ring. 
This  seat  of  Lady  Allworth's  is  well  wooded  and  watered, 
the  acres  rich  and  fertile;  and  the  mansion  is  a  well  built 
pile.  Much  has  been  herein  recited  concerning  the  charac- 
ter of  Sir  Giles.  We  might  add  much  more  that  properly 
belongs  to  the  Conditions  Precedent;  as,  for  instance,  that 


THE  CONDITIONS  PRECEDENT  49 

he  is  not  made  wretched  by  the  curses  of  whole  families. 
No,  only  as  "the  rocks  are,  when  foamy  billows  split  them- 
selves against  their  flinty  ribs,  &c."  Wellborn  used  to 
lodge  upon  the  bankside,  and  he  broke  a  vintner  by  not  pay- 
ing for  muscadine  and  eggs,  and  five  pound  suppers,  with 
after  drinkings.  A  tailor  went  down  also  under  his  reck- 
less extravagance  without  paying  his  bills.  Sir  Giles  holds 
the  deed  by  which  Wellborn  passed  over  to  him  his  estates. 
Marrall  was  a  party  to  the  cheat.  Parson  Wilde  is  bene- 
ficed at  Overreach's  manor  at  Got'em.  The  deed  from  Well- 
born has  slept,  with  unbroken  seal,  in  Overreach's  cabinet 
these  three  years.  Wellborn  has  disposed  of  land  that  had 
continued  in  the  family  name  for  twenty  descents.  It  was 
worth  ten  times  more  than  Sir  Giles  paid  him.  Besides, 
the  original  document  was  a  trust  deed.  All  the  facts 
herein  set  down  were  established  in  the  author's  mind  be- 
fore the  writing  of  the  play  and  not  necessarily  with  refer- 
ence to  where  he  would  use  them. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  PROPOSITION. 

A  dramatic  Proposition  is  the  brief  logical  statement  or 
syllogism  of  that  which  has  to  be  demonstrated  by  the 
Complete  Action  of  the  play. 

Its  simplest  and  perhaps  its  universal  form  so  far  as  I 
have  been  able  to  discover,  is  a  statement  in  three  clauses, 
first,  the  conditions  of  the  Action,  second  the  cause  of  the 
Action,  third,  the  result  of  the  Action.  This  third  clause 
involves  the  problem  and  may  be  put  as  a  problem.  Let 
us  first  consider  a  play  that  is  familiar  to  every  reader  and 
theatre  goer,  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  Shakspere  has 
his  material  for  this  play  in  the  shape  of  an  Italian  romance. 
The  wonderful  thing  he  did  consists  mainly  or  notably  in 
the  application  of  his  art  to  it.  It  is  sheer  nonsense  to  im- 
agine that  Shakspere  wrote  unpremeditatedly  and  without 
a  systematic  and  conscious  Technique.  With  the  possible 
single  exception  of  Massinger,  he  was  the  only  dramatist 
of  his  period  who  seemed  to  possess  a  complete  Technique 
fitted  to  the  stage  of  his  day.  Ben  Johnson  was  a  scholar, 
acquainted  with  Aristotle  and  the  old  classic  drama,  it  is 
true,  but  Shakspere  was  the  supreme  artist.  He  has  re- 
duced this  romantic  Italian  story  to  a  definite  Proposition. 
That  general  Proposition  was : — Two  young  members  of 
families  in  deadly  strife  fall  in  love.  They  marry;  will  it 
result  happily  and  reunite  the  families?  Shakspere,  how- 
ever, had  the  story  before  him  and  could  be  more  definite 
and  could  reduce  it  to  individuals  at  once ;^Komeo  and 
Juliet,  members  of  the  house  of  Montague  and  Capulet,  in 
deadly  strife,  fall  in  love;  they  marry;  will  this  marriage 
result  happily  and  reunite  the  families^  The  third  clause 
is  the  problem  to  be  worked  out ;  but  the  result  can  be  put 
as  a  statement.  Put  as  a  question  or  problem,  its  alterna- 
tives have  to  be  answered  with  a  Yes  or  No.    They  marry 


THK   PROPOSITION  5 1 

with  a  happy  result?  No.  The  families  are  reunited? 
Yes!  Put  as  a  statement  it  requires  a  setting  forth  of  the 
How.  All  this  has  to  be  worked  out.  We  believe  that 
plays  are  ordinarily  written  without  a  conception  of  the 
technical  form  that  we  give  for  a  Proposition.  To  write  a 
play  on  the  general  idea  that  it  must  have  a  beginning,  a 
middle  and  an  end,  results  in  many  successful  plays  and 
just  as  many  failures.  What  we  may  call  the  French 
method,  which  undoubtedly  involves  the  idea  of  a  technical 
Proposition  such  as  we  give  it,  is  a  little  more  specific 
in  that  it  makes  a  middle  of  a  play  the  climax  and  thereby 
becomes  more  specific  and  more  scientific.  They  write  to 
and  from  that  climax.  I  shall  point  out  later  on  that  cli- 
max used  with  reference  to  the  Proposition  is  a  dangerous 
and  misleading  term.  But,  in  the  hands  of  a  dramatist  who 
understands  the  art  it  answers  the  purpose.  We  be- 
lieve it,  however,  to  be  less  definite  and  comprehensive 
than  the  logical  formula  of  Proposition  which  we  have  in- 
troduced. A  full  understanding  and  acceptance  of  the  sec- 
ond clause  of  the  Proposition,  as  we  frame  it,  is  of  the 
utmost  importance.  It  represents  the  cause  of  the  Action. 
Misapprehension  and  confusion  commonly  exist  in  the 
minds  of  the  inexpert  as  to  the  significance  of  this  term. 
They  are  apt  to  imagine  that  the  cause  of  the  Action  is  that 
Romeo  and  Juliet  fall  in  love.  Not  at  all.  That  is  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Action  and  belongs  to  the  conditions  of  it. 
From  that  starting  point  any  number  of  romantic  or  real 
happenings  could  ensue.  A  play  could  not  be  made  out  of 
those  conditions  without  something  definite,  something 
that  we  call  the  cause  of  the  Action.  To  assign  a  mere  mid- 
dle and  end  to  a  series  of  happenings  would  not  necessarily 
make  it  a  play.  Even  a  climax  in  the  general  sense  of  the 
most  interesting  scene  or  situation  would  not  help  matters. 
It  is  because  Romeo  and  Juliet  marry,  with  the  swift  fol- 
lowing consequences  that  we  have  Action.  Sooner  or  later 
the  dramatist  must  determine  upon  the  Proposition  of  his 
play.     He  may  not  get  it  at  once,  but  a  discussion  of  the 


52  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE; 

method  and  procuring  it  must  be  deferred.  It  is  your 
business  now  to  understand  what  a  Proposition  is  and  its 
relation  to  the  other  parts  of  a  play. 

The  play  now  selected  for  illustration  is  an  exceedingly 
simple  and  effective  one,  "Ingomar."  The  Theme  of  the 
author's  play  was  love.  Endless  plays  have  been  and  can 
yet  be  written  on  that  Theme,  but  the  general  Theme  is 
not  definite  enough  for  practical  purposes.  What  kind  of 
love?  and  so  you  go  on  narrowing  it  down.  Arrived  at 
the  Proposition,  whether  found  in  a  complete  story  with 
a  dramatic  Proposition  or  a  story  be  devised  to  fit  a  philoso- 
phy, the  play  must  resolve  itself  into  a  Proposition  or  the 
dramatist  has  no  starting  point.  There  must  be  nothing  ab- 
stract about  it;  it  must  concern  people.  A  moral  Proposi- 
tion for  a  play  may  have  its  abstract  form,  but  the  working 
Proposition  must  be  concrete.  Your  first  step  upon  solid 
ground  will  be  made  when  you  assure  yourself  of  the  truth 
of  this  dramatic  law  and  when  you  convince  yourself  that 
it  is  a  universal  and  inevitable  requirement.  You  will  find 
it  true  with  reference  to  all  the  plays  herein  and  to  all  which 
it  is  now  your  independent  task  to  analyze.  Again  I  repeat 
the  admonition  that  you  make  sure  that  you  understand 
and  accept  the  Proposition  as  the  real  starting  point  of  the 
construction  and  subsequent  writing  of  a  play.  Unless 
you  can  reduce  your  play  to  a  Proposition  you  have  no  play. 
What  is  your  play  about?  If  you  cannot  answer  that  ques- 
tion in  two  lines  or  so,  you  have  no  play.  The  tendency  is 
to  throw  a  Proposition  together  loosely  and  mainly  in  the 
form  of  a  question,  for  instance: — Will  Ingomar,  having 
in  his  possession  a  beautiful  girl,  he  a  barbarian,  be  con- 
quered by  the  power  of  love?  Or  take  the  point  of  view, 
from  Parthenia: — ^Will  Parthenia,  trusting  to  the  mercy 
of  the  savages,  accomplish  her  mission  of  saving  her  father 
by  softening  the  heart  of  the  Barbarian  leader?  One  might 
stumble  through  a  play  by  the  aid  of  either  of  these  Pro- 
positions and,  by  a  bare  possibility,  the  dramatist  using 
either  Proposition  might  have  written  this  identical  play, 


THE  PROPOSITION  53 

but  if  he  did  succeed  in  writing  the  identical  play  he  would 
have  written  something  that  he  did  not  start  out  to  write, 
for  neither  Proposition  covers  the  whole  play.  Either  af- 
fords a  kind  of  Proposition  that  serves  to  hold  a  play  to- 
gether in  a  fashion,  but  one  should  be  scientific  and  accu- 
rate from  the  beginning  and  not  trust  to  chance.  It  is 
sometimes  difficult  to  frame  a  Proposition  that  will  include 
everything  in  the  Complete  Action.  Reducing  the  Com- 
plete Action  of  "INGOMAR"  to  its  lowest  terms  the  follow- 
ing is  more  of  a  Complete  Proposition:  Parthenia  offers 
herself  to  Ingomar,  chief  of  a  tribe  of  barbarians,  as  host- 
age for  her  captive  father;  Ingomar  accepts  her,  with  a 
savage  view  of  using  her  as  the  slave  of  his  passions;  will 
she  become  his  slave  or  subdue  him  to  honest  love  and  will 
he,  for  that  reason,  renounce  his  tribe  to  marry  her?  This 
covers  the  case,  although  it  apparently  begins  with  the 
second  act.  In  reality  the  first  act  is  a  prologue.  Now,  in 
this  Proposition  are  involved  all  sorts  of  subordinate  things 
necessary  to  the  Plot  and  the  Action  and  there  are  included 
even  subordinate  Propositions,  but  it  is  your  one  main  Pro- 
position to  which  you  must  make  your  material  conform. 
The  subordinate  Proposition  here  is  whether  Ingomar  will 
renounce  his  tribe  for  love  of  her.  The  subordinate  Propo- 
sition in  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  concerns  the  reconciliation  of 
the  families.  It  is  very  common  if  not  usual  for  a  Propo- 
sition to  have  this  subordinate  clause,  but  it  must  be  sub- 
ordinate. 

Merely  with  reference  to  the  wording,  the  Proposition  of 
a  given  play  is  susceptible  of  different  statement,  but  in 
substance  the  Proposition  would  remain  the  same.  A  Pro- 
position usually,  by  necessity,  includes  the  few  principal 
Characters  around  whom  the  Action  revolves.  But  there 
are  many  propositions  in  a  play.  Just  as  each  act  has  its 
Proposition,  so  a  Proposition  may  be  attached  to  individual 
Characters.  The  main  Proposition  involves  many  subordi- 
nate Propositions,  consequently,  the  danger  in  framing  the 
main  one,  the  one  including  all  the  others,  is  that  we  may 


54  ANAI^YSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE; 

select  a  subordinate  one  and  thus  not  have  a  complete 
Action.  At  first  the  Proposition  of  "The  Lady  of 
Lyons"  may  seem  to  be  this:  Pauline,  rich  and  proud,  a 
tradesman's  daughter,  ambitious  of  marrying  a  title,  is  loved 
by  Claude  Melnotte,  the  gardener's  son;  unrecognized  by 
her,  he  personates  a  Prince  and  marries  her;  will  her  love, 
humbling  her  pride,  cause  her  to  forgive  the  deception  and 
finally  reunite  them?  Or  it  may  be  put  as  a  statement: 
Pauline,  rich  and  proud,  ambitious  of  marrying  a  title,  is 
loved  by  Claude  Melnotte,  the  gardener's  son;  unrecog- 
nized by  her,  he  personates  a  Prince  and  marries  her;  love 
conquers  her  pride,  she  forgives  the  deception  and  becomes 
his  wife  after  separation.  The  one  first  given  does  not  seem 
to  take  in  the  last  act  or  provide  for  Melnotte's  atonement, 
and  rather  leaves  the  last  act  as  a  kind  of  Epilogue.  Let  us 
see  if  this  will  not  cover  the  whole  case :  Pauline,  rich  and 
vain,  ambitious  of  marrying  a  title,  is  loved  by  Melnotte, 
a  peasant ;  Melnotte  deceives  her  into  marriage  by  pretend- 
ing to  be  a  Prince ;  will  her  pride  be  humbled  by  her  love, 
and  will  he  incidentally,  atone  for  his  treachery?  Again, 
the  author,  mentally  reserving  all  details,  would  have  had 
a  sufficient  and  definite  Proposition  in  this  form :  Pauline 
is  loved  by  Melnotte ;  he  deceives  her  into  a  marriage  by 
personating  a  Prince ;  will  he  win  her  love  and  atone  for 
his  treachery?  He  has  a  working  Proposition  when  he 
gets  the  three  clauses,  premises,  Cause  of  Action  and  result. 
He  may  not  get  it  all  at  once,  and  it  may  be  subject  to 
change  as  he  proceeds,  but  the  incidental  processes  are  to 
be  considered  later.  We  are  now  concerned  with  what  a 
Proposition  is.  This  Proposition  does  not  require  any  de- 
tail of  the  Action  or  how  it  is  to  be  carried  out.  It  is  the 
Story  of  the  play.  The  last  clause  is  the  problem  to  be 
worked  out.  From  the  Proposition  the  Plot  is  constructed. 
Thence  you  proceed  to  demonstrate,  in  the  Action,  how  it 
all  happened. 

In    "Camille,"    Camille    is    honestly    loved  by  Armand, 
who  wishes  to  withdraw  her  from  her  irregular  life ;  she  is 


THE  PROPOSITION  55 

required  to  sacrifice  herself  by  giving  him  up  for  his  own 
good.  Will  she  be  so  purified  by  this  love  as  to  do  thia^ 
and  v^ill  she  by  the  merit  of  this  purified  love  be  finally 
united  with  him? 

This  is  a  full  statement  of  the  whole  case,  although  it 
might  have  a  different  form  as  to  words.  Whether  Dumas 
derived  his  philosophy  of  the  case  from  certain  facts,  or 
whether  he  devised  or  found  his  facts  to  fit  his  philosophy 
is  immaterial.  He  was  convinced  that  a  woman  may  be 
purified  by  love.  That  was  his  Theme  or  philosophy,  his 
general  Proposition.  But  we  cannot  call  the  Theme  or 
philosophy  of  a  play  its  Proposition,  for  if  we  are  to  be 
scientific  or  even  intelligible  to  ourselves  or  others  in  dis- 
cussion, our  terms  must  have  a  specific  meaning.  We  can- 
not have  a  definite  play  from  an  indefinite  or  general  Propo- 
sition. Even  here,  the  process  is  from  the  general  to  the 
particular.  In  bringing  it  down  from  the  general  we  do  not 
depart  in  the  slightest  from  that  general  idea.  Will  love 
purify  a  woman  would  not  answer  for  a  Proposition  of  this 
play,  for  there  is  nothing  specific  about  it;  and  the  drama 
is  specific  or  nothing.  What  woman?  Under  what  cir- 
cumstances? Her  age?  Her  mode  of  life?  Her  surround- 
ings? Make  these  and  all  essential  things  plain;  place  them 
in  an  atmosphere  as  clear,  we  may  say,  as  that  of  Colorado 
where  the  mountain  peaks  a  hundred  miles  away  may  be 
seen.  Here  we  h'ave  a  Proposition  divided  into  three 
clauses.  First,  the  premises,  that  is  to  say,  the  conditions 
and  active  facts  upon  which  the  Action  is  based.  Second, 
we  have  the  cause  of  Action,  the  main  Cause,  that  upon 
which  the  complete  Action  turns.  Third,  what  will  be  the 
result  of  this  main  cause  of  Action?  The  third  clause  con- 
tains the  problem  of  the  play.  We  could  throw  the  Propo- 
tion  into  the  form  of  a  statement  of  a  happening,  or  some- 
thing that  happens,  the  result  being  known,  as  indeed  they 
are  known  to  the  dramatist  in  either  case.  Then  we  would 
have  to  discover,  for  playwriting  is  never  perfunctory,  and 
result.    In  neither  event  is  the  problem  a  riddle  or  a  matter 


56  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

of  chance  to  the  dramatist.  He  knows  what  the  result  will 
be  before  he  begins  to  work  the  Proposition  out.  The  de- 
tails of  it  he  may  have  to  discover.  Minor  details  he  will 
have  to  discover  for  playwriting  is  never  perfunctory,  and 
this  constant  discovery  or  invention  is  the  charm  that  sus- 
tains the  mettle  of  the  writer. 

A  true  Proposition  is  inclusive  of  all  that  may  be  discov- 
ered and  used  in  the  play.  All  that  is  used  must  conform 
to  the  proposition.  If  your  discoveries  and  material  prove 
overpoweringly  suggestive  of  another  and  better  proposi- 
tion, then  you  will  have  to  change  your  Proposition,  for 
your  play  must  conform  to  it.  Sooner  or  later  it  becomes 
fixed.  All  the  better  if  your  original  idea  is  the  true  one  and 
rooted  in  a  firm  philosophy.  If  the  original  idea  is  nOt  a 
strong  one  and  if  you  are  looking  for  a  mere  "play"  such 
changes  are  often  made.  Dumas  wanted  to  find  the  highest 
test  of  Camille's  sincerity  and  purification.  Remember  that 
we  are  stating  it  from  the  French  point  of  view.  At  any 
rate,  we  get  the  sacrifice,  and  in  the  last  act  we  get  the 
purified  spirit. 

Observe  that  the  last  clause  contains  two  problems,  a 
main  and  a  subordinate  one.  This  is  usually  if  not  always 
the  case.  The  two  wheels  seem  required  to  balance  the 
vehicle.  The  Action  is  not  worked  out  until  both  are  dem- 
onstrated. And  the  completion  of  both  must  be  practically 
simultaneous.  We  have  in  the  three  clauses  a  beginning, 
a  middle  and  an  end.  Now,  see  how  much  this  involves. 
You  get  a  glimpse  of  Action  right  off.  It  plainly  is  pro- 
gressive Action.  It  is  all  toward  a  given  end.  It  includes 
all  the  facts  as  they  are  developed.  Why  is  it  not  necessary 
to  make  mention  of  Varville  or  the  father  of  Armand  or 
any  of  the  other  characters  in  this  Proposition?  Because 
the  next  step  is  a  Plot  to  work  out  this  Proposition,  and 
these  characters  belong  to  the  Plot.  They  may  exist,  to  a 
certain  extent,  in  the  mind  of  the  dramatist  when  he  frames 
his  Proposition,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  they  should 
be  mentioned  in  the  Proposition.    In  point  of  fact,  a  drama- 


THE  PROPOSITION  57 

tist  may  actually  write  a  play  with  a  Proposition  sufficient, 
as  he  may  think,  and  then  be  under  the  necessity  for  the- 
purpose  of  revision,  to  go  back  and  question  and  reframe 
his  Proposition.  If  dramatists  always  did  this,  for  surety, 
untold  sums  would  be  saved  and  many  a  play  would  be 
rescued  from  failure.  Dumas  first  saw  the  absolute  neces- 
sity for  Varville  when  he  began  to  consider  Camille^s  sacri 
fice.  How  was  she  to  convince  Armand  that  she  had  aban- 
doned him?  By  going  back  to  Varville.  He  connects  it 
at  once  with  the  second  clause  of  the  Proposition.  That 
made  it  obligatory  to  put  Varville  in  the  premises  of  the 
play,  in  the  development  of  the  first  clause.  If  he  belonged 
to  the  Proposition  the  chances  are  that  he  would  be  in  the 
last  act  in  proper  person.  If  we  attempted  to  put  into  the 
Proposition  every  fact  in  the  Plot  and  every  incidental  de- 
tail, how  could  there  be  any  scientific  division  of  the  func- 
tions of  the  parts  of  a  play?  What  would  be  the  use  of 
a  distinct  Proposition  if  it  was  really  not  distinct  ?  It  is  not 
a  mere  convenience,  indispensably  convenient  as  it  is. 
A  consistent  Plot  is  essential  to  the  working  out  of  the 
Proposition,  but  there  are  many  details  in  a  play  which  are 
at  least  optional  with  reference  to  the  Proposition.  If  you 
put  one  thing  in  the  Proposition  which  did  not  properly 
belong  to  it,  you  had  as  well  put  everything.  We  can  at 
once  see  that  it  was  necessary  to  put  Duval  in  the  Proposi- 
tion, for  he  is  implied  in  the  sacrifice  demanded.  Prudence 
is  implied,  for  Armand  must  be  introduced  to  Camille  by 
her.  It  may  be  said  that  Gustave  and  Nichette  are  not  ob- 
vious. Very  true.  They  do  not  even  belong  to  the  Plot. 
They  belong  to  the  Action,  which  is  again  something  difffer- 
ent  from  the  Plot.  That  we  shall  see  in  discussing  Plot  and 
Action.  It  is  enough  to  see  that  out  of  this  Proposition 
grew  the  entire  play.  The  Proposition  of  this  play  was  de- 
veloped out  of  the  philosophy  of  the  dramatist  and  his  sub- 
ject. We  shall  find  other  plays  in  which  this  process  is  not 
so  certain,  and,  indeed,  not  required  in  the  initiative. 

Do  not  be  disturbed  at  any  repetition  that  you  may  dis- 


/    ^'     or  -' 
,i_...U,N.|V£._„._ ..._. 


58  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

cover  in  these  pages.  It  is  orderly  repetition  and  is  of  the 
very  essence  of  learning  and  teaching.  I  am  giving  my 
labors  to  'my  students  and  am  not  primarily  addressing 
myself  to  the  casual  reader. 

In  "Still  Water  Runs  Deep,"  Mildmay  has  lost  authority 
in  his  own  household  because  of  the  supremacy  of  Hawks- 
ley,  who  has  designs  against  the  purity  of  his  wife  and  her 
aunt  and  against  the  family  fortune;  Mildmay  confronts 
Hawksley  with  a  bill  forged  by  him,  thereby  preventing  the 
scandal  against  the  aunt  and  forcing  him  to  return  the  in- 
vestments already  made;  by  the  production  of  a  second 
forged  bill  held  in  reserve  he  exposes  Hawksley  in  the 
presence  of  his  family  and  restores  himself  to  authority. 

This  is  a  working  Proposition  for  it  is  comprehensive, 
with  premises,  cause  of  Action,  and  result  or  problem;  a 
beginning,  a  middle  and  an  end.  The  last  clause  may  be 
made  to  read:  Mildmay  defeats  Hawksley  and  restores 
himself  to  authority. 

Observe  first  the  Unity  of  the  Proposition.  Everything 
depends  upon  Mildmay's  exposure  of  Hawksley.  The  re- 
gaining of  the  confidence  of  the  family  is  subordinate  to 
that.  Put  it  the  other  way,  that  Mildmay  regains  the  confi- 
dence of  his  family,  and  thereby  is  enabled  to  expose 
Hawksley.  A  play  might  be  made  for  such  a  Proposition, 
but  it  does  not  present  a  definite  Action  as  to  means,  and 
would  certainly  require  entirely  diflferent  treatment.  The 
exposure  of  Hawksley  would  be  the  subordinate  clause  in 
the  problem.  Again,  suppose  that  he  should  defeat  Hawks- 
ley with  reference  to  his  wife  by  showing  her  the  design 
of  Hawksley  on  the  aunt,  and  then  had  to  turn  about  on  an 
entirely  different  line  and  convince  Potter,  who  holds  the 
purse  strings,  that  Hawksley  is  a  scoundrel?  Then  you 
would  have  two  propositions  of  equal  importance  or  that 
would  require  independent  treatment.  One  part  of  the 
play  would  be  finished  before  the  other  part,  neither  one 
or  the  other  would  be  main  or  subordinate.  There  would 
be  no  direct  relation  between  them  except  at  the  end  of  the 


the:  proposition  59 

play  perhaps.  There  would  not  be  that  continuous  relation- 
ship which  is  necessary  to  the  Unity  of  a  Proposition.  Go  a^ 
little  further  by  way  of  experiment  and  add  as  a  Proposition, 
Can  Mildmay  also  convert  Mrs.  Sternhold  from  a  hardshell 
Baptist  to  a  Roman  Catholic?  Why  not?  Amateurs  and 
some  dramatists  of  false  reputations  who,  however,  do  not 
know  the  art,  are  constantly  doing  things  equally  absurd. 
Indeed,  what  we  have  just  suggested  might  be  introduced 
as  one  of  the  minor  Propositions  incidental  to  Action,  for  a 
play  has  many  Propositions,  but  the  Present  Proposition 
of  the  play  hardly  suggests  the  possibility  of  any  such 
vagary.  We  must  confine  the  Proposition  of  the  play  to  the 
idea  that  controls  the  play  and  holds  it  together  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  If,  then,  you  can  destroy  the  play  by  means 
of  a  false  Proposition,  you  can  also  destroy  the  Proposition 
by  departing  from  it  in  the  course  of  the  Action  of  the  play. 
If,  in  writing  a  play,  a  change  is  made,  a  departure  taken, 
then  you  are  compelled  to  go  back  and  make  the  Proposition 
conform  to  it.  If  you  complete  a  play  without  having  for- 
mulated a  Proposition  and  then  find  you  cannot  formulate 
one,  and  cannot  make  play  and  Proposition  consist,  your 
labor  is  lost,  for  there  must  be  a  dramatic  Proposition  or 
there  can  be  no  play. 

A  Proposition  must  be  susceptible  of  being  worked  out; 
there  must  be  material  for  it.  If  a  Plot  cannot  be  evolved 
from  it,  the  Proposition  is  inadequate.  If  it  is  a  Proposition 
for  which  a  play  of  not  more  than  one  or  two  acts  can  be 
devised,  it  is  folly  to  try  to  work  it  out  in  three  or  five  acts. 
In  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  there  was  material  for  three 
acts  only.  The  play  could  not  be  padded  out  by  introducing 
into  the  second  clause  of  the  Proposition  a  second  means  of 
thwarting  Hawksley,  such,  for  instance,  as  showing  that 
he  was  already  a  bigamist.  Again,  in  order  to  show  the 
essential  requirement  of  simplicity  and  Unity,  let  us  assume 
that  in  the  first  clause,  the  premises  of  the  Proposition,  we 
had  to  state  that  Mildmay  was  henpecked  and  a  candidate 
for  Congress.     Make  him  a  candidate  for  Congress  if  you 


60  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

will,  but  you  cannot  put  it  into  Proposition,  for  everything 
in  the  Proposition  must  be  material  to  the  Plot.  A  Plot 
must  have  Unity  above  all  things.  You  cannot  possibly 
have  any  true  inspiration  for  a  play  or  any  justification  in 
attempting  it,  if  your  idea  is  not  large  enough  for  a  play 
in  its  singleness.  It  is  a  test  of  your  own  sanity,  your  own 
sincerity,  of  the  genuineness  of  your  material.  It  is  true 
that  you  may  not  be  able  to  formulate  at  once  your  Proposi- 
tion or  exactly  what  your  play  is  to  be  about.  You  may  not 
at  once  discover  the  practical  constituents  of  the  Proposi- 
tion, nor  at  all  in  its  clauses.  Tom  Taylor  perhaps  first 
had  the  idea  occur  to  him  that  an  interesting  character 
would  be  a  man  of  great  firmness,  veiled  under  a  quiet 
manner,  cool  under  all  circumstances.  It  may  have  been 
suggested  to  him  by  some  other  character  in  some  other 
play.  Or  it  may  have  been  an  observation  original  with 
him.  He  had  to  cast  about  before  he  found  the  Action 
which  would  bring  out  these  characteristics.  He  had  a 
part  of  his  Proposition  the  moment  the  idea  occurred  to 
him.  It  is  immaterial  whether  he  saw  how  he  could  defeat 
Hawksley  before  or  after  he  formulated  his  Proposition. 
He  could  easily  have  worked  it  out  algebraicly,  confident 
that  he  would  find  the  needed  equivalent.  But  sooner  or 
later  he  had  to  frame  his  Proposition.  Observe  that  not  all 
the  characters  are  mentioned  in  the  Proposition.  Those 
omitted  are  not  Proposition  characters  but  belong  to  the 
Plot  or  the  Action. 

The  difficulty  which  an  untrained  writer  experiences  in 
reducing  a  play  to  its  Proposition,  its  lowest  terms,  consists 
in  the  necessity  of  excluding  from  the  Proposition  charac- 
ters that  belong  to  the  Plot  simply  or  to  the  Action  simply. 
If  we  included  the  means  of  carrying  out  a  Proposition  we 
would  infringe  upon  the  Plot.  Any  mention  of  the  thirteen 
letters  held  by  Hawksley  would  make  the  Proposition  cum- 
brous, although  a  working  Proposition  might  include  it. 
The  dramatic  mind  must  be  able  to  make  distinctions, 
otherwise  the  Proposition,  the  Plot  and  the  Action  would 


THK  PROPOSITION  6l 

all  be  the  same  thing  to  him.  If  Proposition  means  Plot, 
and  Plot  means  Proposition  and  Action  meant  Plot,  &c., 
there  would  be  no  earthly  use  in  our  establishing  the  terms 
at  all.  We  must  not  only  make  a  distinction  between  the 
principles  and  their  use,  but  we  must  always  be  specific. 

Taylor  might  have  started  out  with  such  a  general 
Proposition  as  this: — Can  a  henpecked  husband,  a  very 
much  under-rated  individual,  rise  above  the  state  in  which 
he  finds  himself  and  attain  his  rightful  position  at  the  head 
of  the  family?  One  might  indeed  begin  with  a  very  general 
Proposition,  gradually  making  it  more  specific  until  he 
gets  what  he  wants.  In  this  play  there  had  to  be  a  particu- 
lar husband  and  particular  existing  circumstances  which  had 
to  be  overcome  in  order  that  the  goal  aimed  at  might  be 
reached. 

The  Proposition  of  "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old 
Debts"  is  not  easy  to  define,  for  it  has  an  unusual  num- 
ber of  under-plots,  and  the  dominating  and  overwhelming 
masterfulness  of  Sir  Giles  would  seem  to  absolutely  de- 
mand that  we  frame  our  Proposition  with  reference  to  the 
chief  character  of  the  play  and  from  our  point  of  view  of 
that  character.  Massinger's  first  idea,  for  the  strongest, 
and  he  drew  his  picture  from  life,  was  Overreach.  He 
wanted  to  mete  out  punishment  to  him.  He  would  cause 
him  to  make  restitution  of  lands  fraudulently  obtained 
and  have  his  one  social  ambition,  to  be  effected  by  the  sac- 
rifice of  his  daughter,  defeated.  The  dramatist's  interest 
was  not  aroused  by  Wellborn.  The  interest  of  the  audience 
now  does  not  center  in  the  spendthrift.  If  Massinger  had 
wanted  that  he  would  have  given  him  a  love  affair.  Mas- 
singer  had  to  accomplish  the  ruin  of  Sir  Giles  by  a  com- 
bination of  circumstances,  with  Wellborn  as  the  starting 
point,  so  that  the  Proposition  from  which  a  Plot  and 
Action  may  grow  seems  to  depend  upon  Wellborn.  The 
simplest  Proposition,  the  most  comprehensive,  may  seem 
at  first  to  be  something  like  this:  Wellborn,  robbed  of 
his  estates  by  Sir  Giles,  determines  to  retrieve  himself;  he 


62  ANAIvYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

gets  Lady  AUworth  to  pretend  that  she  will  marry  him ; 
will  Sir  Giles  then  set  him  up  in  the  world  again?  That 
is  good  enough,  comprehensive  enough,  as  far  as  it  goes. 
Sir  Giles  does  furnish  him  the  money  with  which  to  pay 
off  his  debts,  but  that  does  not  cover  the  last  act.  It  was 
never  a  problem  whether  Wellborn  could  get  Sir  Giles 
to  restore  his  entire  property.  The  two  great  problems  in 
the  play  are  whether  Sir  Giles  will  be  duped  or  made  to 
overreach  himself  or  not,  both  with  reference  to  his 
schemes  of  plundering  Wellborn  and  the  marriage  of  his 
daughter  to  Lord  Lovell  instead  of  to  her  rightful  lover 
Allworth.  The  first  point  is  held  in  solution  to  the  death 
of  Sir  Giles,  but  there  is  hardly  any  doubt  at  any  time, 
in  the  mind  of  the  audience,  as  to  the  intentions  of  Lord 
Lovell.  We  know  that  Margaret  will  not  be  wed  to  him. 
If  we  put  the  problem  so  that  it  makes  Sir  Giles  ambi- 
tious for  a  rich  marriage  for  Margaret,  then  that  part  of 
it  is  kept  in  solution  to  the  end.  Let  us  look  for  that  prob- 
lem again.  Sir  Giles  is  to  overreach  himself  in  what? 
In  supplying  Wellborn  with  money?  That  does  not  com- 
plete the  Action.  He  overreaches  himself  in  thinking  that 
he  can,  by  some  trick,  get  the  estate  of  Lady  Allworth  if 
she  is  married  to  Wellborn.  But  he  is  really  defeated  by 
the  betrayal  of  Marrall,  whom  he  has  treated  brutally, 
thereby  overreaching  him(self.  He  is  overreached  by  every- 
body. We  must  look  for  the  Proposition  in  the  solution 
of  the  Action,  in  the  denouement  and  ending  of  the  play. 
Massinger  wanted  to  have  Sir  Giles  overreach  himself, 
and  there  might  be  a  continued  hope  and  expectation  that 
he  would  do  so  throughout  the  Action,  but  we  know  that 
he  will  never  have  any  chance  to  rob  his  nephew  of  prop- 
erty when  he  shall  have  married  Lady  Allworth,  for  that 
event  will  never  take  place.  The  question  would  always 
remain.  Will  he  be  duped,  not  what  he  will  be  able  to  do. 
It  would,  then,  seem  impossible  to  secure  an  all-embracing 
Proposition  from  either  the  standpoint  of  Wellborn  or  of  Sir 
Giles.    A  Proposition  that  seems  to  cover  the  case,  with  a 


THE   PROPOSITION  63 

beginning,  a  middle  and  an  end,  seems  to  be  something 
like  this:  Wellborn  has  been  robbed  of  his  patrimony  by 
Sir  Giles,  and  his  friend  Allworth,  in  love  with  Sir  Giles's 
daughter,  Margaret,  is  prevented  from  marrying  her  by 
being  kept  from  her;  Wellborn  gets  Lady  Allworth  to 
pretend  that  she  will  n^arry  him,  and  Allworth  gets  Lord 
Lovell  to  pretend  to  sue  for  Margaret;  will  Sir  Giles  be 
duped  into  rehabilitating  Wellborn  and  giving  Allworth 
an  opportunity  to  marry  his  daughter?  This  would  be  a 
working  Proposition  and  would  be  perfectly  clear  to  one 
familiar  with  the  Material  and  the  purposes.  The  premises 
seem  to  be  lacking  as  to  the  character  of  Sir  Giles  with 
reference  to  the  specific  plan  to  rob  his  nephew  again  and 
as  to  his  intense  social  ambition,  but  are  they  not  implied? 
The  problem  as  to  whether  Wellborn  would  secure  money 
from  his  uncle  is  answered,  and  although  it  goes  beyond 
that  point  to  the  production  of  the  razed  deed,  that  is  an 
unexpected  and  needed  turn  in  the  Plot  Action.  This  play 
is  unusually  complex  and  difficult  to  reduce  to  a  brief  Pro- 
position. I  shall  return  to  it  again.  In  the  meanwhile 
you  may  essay  its  formulation  by  way  of  bettering  mine. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE   PLOT. 

The  Plot  is  that  combination  of  happenings  which  dem- 
onstrates or  solves  the  Proposition. 

For  the  present,  we  are  studying  what  may  be  called 
the  physiology  and  anatomy  of  a  play;  consequently  we 
are  excluding  certain  things  which  really  belong  to  a  full 
understanding  of  each  principle  taken  up ;  but  which  would 
only  lead  to  confusion ;  one  thing  at  a  tim(e.  For  example, 
while  the  Scenario  embraces  our  Plot,  and  while  you  must 
have  a  Plot  beforejjrou  can„determine^n_alljthe  details 
oflHFTcenes,  or  rather  what  scenes  to  have,  the  Scenario 
goes  a  little~"lurther  than  the  bare  Plot,  just  as  Plot  and 
Scenario  include  Action,  which  is  to  be  considered  in  its 
order.  All  of  them,  again,  include  Unity  which  is  to  be 
considered  in  its  turn.  What  you  have  learned  so  far  is 
that  these  divisions  must  first  be  made  before  the  actual 
writing  is  begun  and  that  object  and  Proposition  are  the 
characteristics  of  this  coming  from  the  general  to  the 
particular,  getting  closer  and  closer  to  detail.  The  Sce- 
nario is  the  arrangement  of  the  play  into  Scenes.  The 
Proposition  may  be  given  as  a  problem  or  as  a  Story,  that 
is  to  say,  as  a  logical  statement.  The  Plot  is  the  way  in 
which  you  carry  out  that  statement  of  Story,  or  solve  that 
Story  or  problem.  There  is  no  absolute  need  for  us  to  go 
into  a  detailed  exposition  of  all  this  now;  for  the  present 
purpose  it  is  enough  to  have  you  examine  the  plays  and 
see  for  yourself  the  universal  application  of  the  method 
of  obtaining  one  part  of  the  structure  at  a  time.  When 
we  get  to  the  Constructive  part  of  the  work  we  will  have 
to  put  it  into  practice.  Simply  note  the  progressive  steps 
and  the  specific  nature  of  each  component  part  of  the  play. 
You  will  observe  as  you  proceed,  that  each  act  has  its 


THD  PLOT  65 

Plot,  as  well  as  the  play,  and  that  each  scene  in  which  any- 
thing is  at  issue  has  its  Plot  and  is  a  little  play  in  itself. 

The  Plot — that  which  works  out  your  play — is  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  important  happenings — which  are  the 
larger  wheels.  A  play  being  an  arrangement  of  wheels 
within  wheels;  the  Proposition  being  the  balance  wheel, 
the  Acts  the  hour  wheels,  the  scenes  the  minute  wheels,  the 
incidents  in  the  scenes — and  all  the  smaller  turns — the  sec- 
ond wheels,  so  to  speak.  The  general  Plot,  then,  of  the 
play  is  implied  in  the  main  Proposition,  but  not  stated 
explicitly.  It  has  to  be  worked  out.  The  analytic  work  is 
the  considering  of  plays  that  are  already  complete,  from 
which  we  can  see  what  a  Plot  is  after  a  play  is  completed, 
but  it  is  the  Plot  which  the  author  fixes  before  he  begins  to 
write  and  which  we  read  fully  developed  after  the  play 
is  finished.  It  comes  back  to  the  same  thing.  It  existed 
before  he  wrote  the  play  just  as  it  exists  after.  If  a  mana- 
ger asks  you  for  the  Plot  of  your  play  it  should  not  take 
you  an  hour  or  so  to  tell  it;  as  a  practical  matter,  he  has 
not  the  time  to  spare,  and  you  can  tell  the  Plot  in  a  com- 
paratively few  minutes  and  give  him  all  the  essential  turns 
of  the  main  Action,  that  is,  of  the  Plot.  This  is  substan- 
tially the  Plot  of  "Ingomar,"  stripped  of  anything  like  a 
formal  Division  into  Acts,  that  Division  into  Acts  being  a 
distinct  process  and  part  of  the  structural  work  to  be  un- 
dertaken by  the  dramatist:  Parthenia  is  a  daughter  of  a 
poor  armorer  in  Massilia;  overburdened  with  debt.  She 
is  at  the  fulness  of  her  beauty  and  youth,  and  her  heart  has 
never  known  love;  her  mother  tells  her  that  she  must 
marry  and  proposes  Polydor,  an  aged  miser,  whose  money 
would  bring  comfort  to  the  family;  Parthenia  refuses  her 
mother,  but  on  reflection  considers  it  her  duty 'to  sacrifice 
herself,  to  sell  herself — but  she  says  to  herself  that  she 
will  make  the  price  and  conditions  high.  Polydor  presents 
his  suit,  but  she  is  disgusted  with  his  sordidness  and 
spurns  him ;  he  swears  revenge. 
5 


66  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

News  is  brought  that  her  father  has  been  captured  and 
held  by  the  barbarians  without  the  city  walls  for  ransom; 
she  appeals  to  the  neighbors  for  the  money,  but  none  can 
or  will  help  her;  the  Timarch  refuses;  she  begs  Polydor, 
but  he  spurns  her  in  return,  and  she  determines  to  go  her- 
self to  the  barbarians  and  offer  herself  as  hostage.  (The 
problem  of  the  first  act  was  how  to  get  her  into  the  hands 
of  the  barbarians;  you  will  note  how  it  is  worked  out.  It 
required  a  lot  of  detail,  of  cause  and  effect,  but  you  will  ob- 
serve that  it  is  not  necessary  to  relate  all  these  details  and 
tell  the  whole  play  to  a  mianager  in  order  to  give  him  a 
completely  intelligible  account  of  the  play,  and  when  you 
have  your  Plot  to  start  with  it  is  not  necessary  to  have 
all  the  details  in  your  mind — just  as  you  are  being  taught, 
so  does  the  author  proceed  about  his  work — one  part  of 
the  process  at  a  time).  Parthenia  offers  herself  to  the 
Barbarians  as  hostage  for  Myron,  her  father,  and  is  accept- 
•€d  by  Ingomar,  the  leader;  and  Myron  returns  to  raise  the 
ransom.  Left  alone  with  Ingomar  Parthenia  proves  her 
independence  and  purity  of  mind,  and  talks  to  him  artlessly 
•^of  love,  and  begins  to  win  his  heart  and  protection.  (You 
will  observe  that  the  details  of  the  Action  are  not  stated 
liere;  it  is  enough  that  the  general  Action  progress  is 
rsufficiently  indicated;  that  you  do  not  do  the  entire  work 
all  at  once — something  is  always  left,  as,  for  example,  the 
scenes  work  out  the  problem  indicated.  How  Parthenia 
wins  Ingomar's  heart  is  left  to  be  worked  out  by  the  scene 
of  the  cup  and  the  telling  of  love  as  told  to  her  by  her 
mother,  and  in  the  making  of  your' play  something  is  left 
for  invention;  you  have  WHAT  you  want,  and  devise  in 
the  scenes  the  HOW).  The  barbarians  decide  to  dispose 
of  Parthenia  by  sale  or  by  lot  among  themselves ;  Ingomar 
himself  would  enjoy  her  after  this  fashion  also,  but  in  a 
fine  scene,  she  abashes  himj  and  makes  him  love  her  all  the 
more.  He  saves  her  from  the  other  barbarians,  and  gets 
her  for  his  own  portion,  will  free  her  and  conduct  her 
safely,  the  ransom   cancelled,  to  Massilia.     It  is   seen  in 


THE  PLOT  d'J 

the  city  that  the  citizens  have  been  unable  to  raise  th^ 
ransom.  A  fine  scene  when  Ingomar  having  conducted  her 
safely — the  ransom  cancelled — to  the  gates,  is  about  to 
leave  her;  but  he  returns  to  her,  is  willing  to  renounce 
his  tribe  for  love  of  her,  and  will  go  to  Massilia  itself  with 
her.  The  barbarians  approach  the  city  and  Ingomar  is 
suspected  of  being  a  spy.  In  the  meanwhile  Polydor  is 
still  seeking  to  ruin  Myron,  Parthenia's  father,  by  buying 
up  all  his  debts.  The  parents  still  oppose  the  match.  The 
Timarch  makes  a  proposition  to  Ingomar  relating  to  trap- 
ping his  old  companions  which  Ingomar  refuses  and  is 
about  to  depart;  Parthenia  will  go  with  him;  barbarians 
make  terms;  Polydor  thwarted;  the  lovers  reunited,  and 
Ingomar  is  made  a  Timarch. 

The  Plot  of  "The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  like  that  of  "Ingo- 
mar," is  compact  and  simple.  Each  can  be  reduced  to 
fewer  lines  than  have  been  devoted  to  them.  An  author's 
working  Plot  would  be  expressed  in  a  kind  of  shorthand, 
in  so  far  as  the  use  of  words  is  concerned.  An  excellent 
method  of  familiarizing  yourself  with  the  nature  and  char- 
acteristics of  Plot  would  be  to  become  familiar  with  a  num- 
ber of  Plots,  simple  and  perfect  Plots,  susceptible  of  brief 
statement,  and  be  able  to  give  them  with  entire  accuracy 
at  a  moment's  demand.  If  you  were  not  familiar  with  the 
scientific  restrictions  of  Plot  you  would  soon  find  yourself 
rambling  and  entering  into  innumlerable  details  in  attempt- 
ing to  state  the  Plot  of  any  play.  To  master  the  Plot  of 
a  play  so  as  to  retain  it  in  the  mind  and  give  it  briefly 
is  not  a  feat  of  the  memory,  but  a  natural  process  follow- 
ing out  the  Cause  and  Effect  of  the  Action.  If  fifty  ex- 
perts should  detail  the  Plot  of  a  given  play  already  written, 
those  Plots  should  be  substantially  identical.  Fifty  people 
not  acquainted  with  the  art  might  attempt  to  give  this 
Plot,  and  each  Plot  would  fall  short  of  a  true  scientific  Plot, 
each  differing  in  their  superfluities  or  omissions  from  the' 
other.  It  would  be  impossible  without  bringing  confusion 
into  the  instruction  to  dwell  upon  all  the  characteristics 


68  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPIvi: 

of  Plot  and  those  principles  which  govern  or  influence 
the  management  of  all  parts  of  a  play  as  well  as  the  Plot 
itself.  It  has  been  necessary  to  use  certain  terms,  and  ref- 
erences to  principles  which  you  are  to  learn  by  degrees.  A 
number  of  them  involve  Plot  in  a  most  specific  way.  You 
will  have  to  read  these  pages  through  once  and  then  return 
to  them  often  enough  to  assure  yourself  that  you  under- 
stand the  discussion  of  each  principle.  The  Plot  is  the  de- 
velopment or  demonstration  of  the  Proposition  and  we 
deduce  it  from|  the  Proposition.  In  "The  Lady  of  Lyons", 
for  instance,  how  was  it  possible  for  Melnotte  to  personate 
a  Prince  successfully?  What  kind  of  Prince  was  he?  How 
did  his  opportunity  come?  Why  did  she  forgive  the  de- 
ception? Without  attempting  to  follow  all  the  mental 
processes  in  devising  the  means  of  solving  the  Proposition, 
it  is  enough  now  to  see  that  there  is  a  Proposition  and 
what  the  Plot  is.  The  Plot  here  given  is  the  Plot  without 
reference  to  the  details  of  the  Action,  the  Action  proper 
being  a  distinct  thing.  Observe  that  everything  is  given 
in  the  order  of  the  happenings.  It  is  the  author's  working 
model  with  reference  to  the  reserved  knowledge  in  his 
own  mind.  It  is  as  follows:  Pauline,  rich  and  proud, 
ambitious  of  marrying  rank,  is  sought  after  by  many  suit- 
ors; she  rejects  Beauseant,  himself  rich  and  proud,  but 
not  of  sufficient  or  secure  rank,  humbling  and  enraging 
him ;  Beauseant  meets  with  Glavis,  also  a  rejected  suitor, 
and  they  plan  revenge  to  humble  her.  At  an  inn  they 
hear  shouts,  cheering  a  Prince;  the  landlord  explains  that 
one  Claude  Melnotte  is  so  called  by  the  villagers  by  reason 
of  his  accomplishments  and  manners.  They  determine  to 
mlake  a  pseudo-prince  of  him  and  introduce  him  to  Pauline. 
At  his  humble  home  Claude  is  told  by  the  messenger  that 
his  message  to  Pauline  was  spurned  and  that  he  was  beaten 
when  it  was  learned  that  the  sender  was  the  gardener's 
son ;  he  is  ripe  for  revenge.  He  receives  a  note  at  this  mo- 
ment from  Beauseant  and  is  willing  to  adopt  the  scheme. 
Beauseant  succeeds  in  enforcing  Claude's  oath  to  marry 


the:  pivOT  69 

her  and  take  her  to  the  inn,  where  all  pomp  and  pretenses 
should  vanish.  Damas  suspected  and  tests  his  Italianv 
When  Claude  wishes  to  retire  from  his  bargain,  Beauseant 
reminds  him  of  this  suspicion  and  the  danger  he  is  in  if 
the  Directory  finds  him  out.  Claude  disarms  Damas  in  a 
duel  and  gains  his  friendship ;  Beauseant  produces  a  letter 
telling  him  of  the  danger  he  is  in  fromj  the  Directory  and 
immediate  marriage  is  agreed  upon.  The  marriage  takes 
place,  as  we  see  when  Claude  brings  his  bride  to  the  inn, 
and,  on  pretext  of  the  carriage  breaking  down,  he  takes 
her  to  his  mother's  cottage.  Pauline  discovers  the  truth, 
and  he  tells  her  his  story,  which  touches  her,  and  she 
ceases  to  hate  him  but  feels  the  deep  wrong;  he  will  see 
to  her  release  by  law  and  sends  her  to  rest  in  care  of  his 
mother.  The  kindness  of  the  widow  affects  Pauline  and 
we  see  that  she  begins  to  love  Claude,  and  she  sees  from 
the  portrait  painted  by  him  that  he  was  truthful  and  sin- 
cere. Beauseant  finds  entrance  and  would  take  advantage 
of  her  humiliation  to  renew  his  suit ;  she  resists,  and  Claude 
returning  rescues  her  from  his  embrace ;  her  parents  come ; 
Claude  gives  papers  empowering  divorce;  she  would  re- 
main but  Claude  will  go  to  the  wars  and  redeem  himself; 
the  opportunity  coming  in  the  offer  of  Damas,  now  his 
friend.  Claude,  under  the  name  of  Morier,  having  won 
wealth  and  fame,  returns  from  the  wars;  Damas  has  been 
his  friend  throughout,  and  now  learns  that  Pauline  is  about 
to  marry  Beauseant,  her  father's  bankruptcy  forcing  it. 
While  they  believe  Pauline  is  false  to  Claude,  Damas  urges 
hope.  The  marriage  contract  is  about  to  be  signed.  Pau- 
line begs  Beauseant  to  pay  the  debt  and  yet  release  her. 
He  refuses.  In  a  talk  with  her,  Claude,  concealing  his  face, 
introduced  as  Morier,  is  convinced  of  her  love,  throws 
aside  his  disguise,  offers  the  money  that  releases  her  father 
and  the  two  are  reunited. 

This  is  the  Plot  of  "Camille,"  (as  a  development  of  the 
Proposition)  as  it  may  be  stated  in  order  to  be  intelligible 
to  one  who  knew  nothing  of  the  play: 


70  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE) 

Camille,  a  woman  of  irregular  life,  loves  none  of  her 
suitors;  Arm|and  Duval,  a  young  man  of  good  family,  v^ho 
has  loved  her  passionately  for  two  years,  without  disclos- 
ing himself,  is  introduced  by  Prudence,  one  of  her  set; 
she  begins  to  like  him  at  once  because  he  is  different  from 
those  who  surround  her;  he  declares  his  passion  and 
wishes  to  withdraw  her  from  her  present  life  and  share 
with  her  a  pure  love ;  she  is  unwilling  to  grant  this  demand, 
but  she  sees  that  she  is  loved  as  never  before.  She  pre- 
pares to  retire  to  the  country  with  him,  and  procures 
money  for  the  purpose  from  an  old  friend,  a  protector,  the 
Duke  de  Meuriac;  she  will  accept  Armand's  plans,  feeling 
that  she  loves  and  is  loved.  Armand  makes  the  condition 
that  she  break  oflf  all  other  relations;  she  is  not  advanced 
to  that  understanding  of  Armand's  views,  and  evades  the 
question.  Varville,  a  suitor  who  is  rich  and  offers  to  pay 
her  debts,  enters  after  Armand's  departure;  Armand  is 
jealous,  having  seen  Varville  enter,  and  writes  that  he 
will  quit  Paris;  Camille  is  in  a  fever  of  anxiety;  she  sends 
Varville  away,  and  receives  Armand;  she  yields  fully  to 
Armand's  demjands,  and  commits  herself  without  reserve 
by  tearing  up  a  letter  which  comes  from  Varville.  She 
provides  funds  for  retirement  to  the  country  cottage  by 
arranging  to  sell  her  diamonds  and  effects,  and  Armand 
prepares  to  sell  an  estate  derived  from  his  mother.  During 
his  absence  Duval,  his  father,  appears  and  demands  of 
Camille  that  she  abandon  Armand,  saying  to  her  that  she 
is  ruining  him,  urging  that  Armand  has  a  sister  whose  en- 
gagement of  marriage  will  be  broken  off  if  she  does  not 
immediately  and  finally  discontinue  her  relations  with 
Armand.  Seeing  the  impossibility  of  happiness  for  herself, 
she  sacrifices  her  love,  and  in  order  to  convince  Armand 
that  she  means  to  abandon  him,  she  writes  him  a  note  say- 
ing that  she  has  gone  back  to  Varville.  Heartbroken,  but 
attributing  her  act  to  the  influence  of  Varville,  he  seeks 
a  quarrel  with  him;  at  a  ball  he  publicly  insults  Camille 
by  showering  her  with  money,  so  that  Varville  must  fight 


the:  pIvOT  71 

the  duel  with  him.  Camille  keeps  her  secret  of  sacrifice. 
Deserted  by  both  Varville  and  Armand  she  is  dying.  Duval 
reveals  to  his  son  the  truth,  and  Armand  returns  to  her 
as  she  is  dying,  forgiving  and  forgiven,  united  for  a  mo- 
ment to  be  parted  by  death. 

This  statement  does  not  imply  that  it  is  the  only  one  that 
can  be  made,  word  for  word,  of  the  Plot.  Observe  that 
only  a  limited  number  of  the  characters  are  named.  You 
will  also  note  that  many  incidents  are  not  given,  the  sup- 
per scene,  which  is  in  the  nature  of  an  Episode,  the  little 
ministrations  to  Camille  in  her  last  hours,  the  scene  be- 
tween Camille  and  her  friends  Gustave  and  Nichette  in  the 
third  act,  for  example.  The  reason  is  that  the  Characters 
and  the  incidents  not  included  in  the  statement  of  the  Plot 
belong  to  the  Action.  They  are  elemifents  that  serve  to 
work  out  the  Plot.  Of  course,  the  Plot  itself  has  Action, 
but  what  we  choose  to  specifically  call  Action,  that  of  the 
moment,  includes  the  Action  of  the  Plot.  The  Plot  gives 
only  the  larger  totals;  the  Action  being  the  itemized  ac- 
count of  these  various  totals.  The  author's  Plot  might  be 
still   more  brief: 

Camille  meets  Armand,  is  impressed  with  his  passionate 
declaration  of  love,  but  will  not  give  up  her  life  to  be  with 
him,  for  she  doubts  the  happiness  of  such  a  course,  but 
her  love  prevails;  she  will  take  a  cottage  in  the  country 
with  him,  using  the  money  of  others;  he  refuses  on  these 
conditions;  she  throws  over  Varville,  a  rich  lover,  and 
agrees  to  his  conditions;  the  father  interrupts  their  happi- 
ness by  demanding  that  she  sacrifice  herself  to  save  his 
son  fromi  ruin;  she  writes  a  letter  to  Armand  saying  that 
she  has  abandoned  him  for  Varville ;  Armand  seeking  a 
duel  with  Varville,  whom  he  holds  responsible,  publicly 
insults  Camille ;  Camille  is  abandoned  by  both ;  she  is 
dying;  the  father  reveals  to  Armand  Camille's  sacrifice, 
and  he  returns  forgiving  and  forgiven,  as  she  dies. 

You  will  observe  that  it  covers  the  larger  Action,  and  is 
substantially  the  same  as  the  longer  Plot,  only  omitting 


'J2  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

certain  details.  A  brief  Plot  of  this  kind  is  possible  to  the 
author  because  he  holds  in  mind  all  the  conditions  and 
qualifying  things.  They  are  in  his  notes,  his  Material 
and  his  Conditions  Precedent.  For  that  matter,  many  of 
the  details  of  tjie  Action  may  not  exist  before  he  finds 
this  Plot;  but  sooner  or  later  he  discovers  the  ways  and 
means  of  carrying  out  the  Plot.  Until  he  gets  this  Plot, 
susceptible  of  this  short  statement,  he  has  no  play. 

This  play  is  largely  psychological,  a  conflict  of  emo- 
tions; internal  rather  than  external,  consequently,  the 
Cause  and  Effect  of  it  all  is  more  than  usually  subtle,  con- 
(\  taining  many  shades  of  feeling  and  motive.  Now,  Cause 
0  and  Effect  is  the  distinguishing  mark  of  a  Plot.  Without 
it  there  can  be  no  Plot.  The  moment  a  link  is  lost  it  be- 
comes to  that  extent  Story.  Camille  loves  no  one  because 
she  has  been  disappointed  in  her  social  ambitions  and  has 
been  denied  the  possibilities  of  true  love ;  she  has  a  lovable 
nature  and  is  loved  because  of  it  by  Armand;  introduced 
,^  to  him,  she  recognizes  his  sincerity,  but  does  not  accept 
^•"^ them  because  of  the  hopelessness  of  it  all;  she  yields  to  his 
proposal  to  retire  to  the  country  with  him  because  of  the 
love  which  now  overpowers  her;  she  refuses  to  carry  out 
the  arrangement  because  she  has  not  given  up  her  other 
relations;  she  throws  over  Varville  because  she  under- 
stands him  better  and  her  love  is  being  purified ;  Duval  de- 
mands that  she  sacrifice  herself  because  it  will  save  his 
son,  and  she  consents  for  that  reason;  but  she  cannot  con- 
vince Armand  that  she  no  longer  loves  him  in  abandoning 
him,  and  because  of  that  she  writes  a  letter  renouncing  him 
as  she  goes  to  Varville ;  because  Armand  thinks  Varville  is 
responsible  he  seeks  a  duel  with  him,  and  insults  her  pub- 
licly because  that  will  force  the  duel ;  because  of  this  duel 
she  is  abandoned  by  both  Varville  and  Armand;  because 
she  keeps  her  secret  of  sacrifice  Armand  does  not  return 
to  her;  and  because  of  her  suffering  she  is  dying;  and  be- 
cause Armand's  father  reveals  to  him  the  truth  he  returns 
to  Camille;  and  because  she  has  been  purified  by  love  and 


THE  PLOT  73 

his  love  has  been  constant  they  are  reunited  in  spirit  as  she 
dies  in  his  arms  on  his  return.  Just  as  we  have  followed 
the  course  of  the  Plot  from  Cause  to  Effect,  we  can  run  it 
backward  by  means  of  Cause  and  Effect.  It  is  this  law 
which  enables  one  often  to  establish  effects  before  ascer- 
taining in  details  the  causes.  It  is  that  process  of  thinking 
backward  that  every  dramatist  must  acquire.  In  point  of 
fact,  the  process  of  discovering  the  Action  is  largely  of  this 
nature.  Indeed,  if  this  were  not  so  we  could  not  write 
plays  unless  they  had  already  happened  in  life.  Invention 
would  die,  or  we  should  have  to  rely  upon  the  inferior  inven- 
tion of  the  mere  story  teller,  whereby  it  would  be  a  mere 
chance  whether  the  story  would  be  dramatic  or  not,  a  thing 
of  Cause  and  Effect. 

Need  we  again  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  Plot  is 
a  development  of  the  Proposition?  The  Proposition  of 
''Camille"  will  be  found  included  in  either  of  the  Plots 
given. 

Given  with  some  fulness  the  Plot  of  "Still  Waters  Run 
Deep"  is  substantially  this :  Mildmlay,  a  man  of  mild  man- 
ners, has  lost  his  authority  in  his  own  household  because 
Hawksley  has  infatuated  his  wife's  aunt  and  his  father-in- 
law,  with  the  design  to  corrupt  the  wife  and  to  secure 
through  the  aunt  money  for  worthless  stocks;  in  order  to 
defeat  Hawksley,  Mildmay  must  remain  silent  until  he  pro- 
cures proof  of  the  criminal  career  of  Hawksley.  Mrs. 
Sternhold,  the  aunt,  is  about  to  persuade  Potter,  the  fath- 
er-in-law, to  invest  the  desired  sum,  when  her  suspicions 
are  aroused  as  to  Hawksley's  relations  with  Mrs.  Mildmay 
by  doubts  expressed  by  Potter;  she  hides  and  overhears 
Hawksley  trying  to  force  an  appointment  at  night  with 
Mrs.  Mildmay;  in  her  jealousy  and  rage  she  declares  for 
revenge  and  that  the  investment  shall  not  be  made;  Hawk- 
sley forces  her  to  keep  silent  and  let  the  investment  be 
made  by  Potter,  who  holds  the  money,  inasmuch  as  he, 
Hawksley,  holds  compromising  letters  from  her;  this  fact 
and  the  state  of  affairs  are  overheard  by  Mildmay;  but  he 


74  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

cannot  mbve  until  he  has  the  proof  in  his  hands  of  the 
criminal  career  of  Hawksley,  but  feeling  secure  in  his 
plans,  Mildmay  unexpectedly  urges  the  investment  and 
assumes  all  responsibilities.  In  an  interview  with  Hawk- 
sley, Mildmay  produces  a  forged  bill  from  Hawksley,  and 
in  exchange  for  it  obtains  Mrs.  Sternhold's  compromising 
letters  and  cash  for  the  bonds  already  sold  to  Potter. 
Hawksley,  not  recognizing  his  defeat,  intends  to  regain 
his  ground  by  humiliating  Mildmay  at  dinner  at  Mildmay*s 
home  the  next  day,  and  offers  on  that  occasion  a  duel,  but 
his  cowardice  is  exposed  by  Mildmay's  acceptance  and 
Hawksley's  refusal  to  fight  with  one  pistol  unloaded  and 
chosen  by  chance;  Hawksley  is  finally  defeated  by  the  in- 
troduction of  a  second  forged  bill  by  an  officer,  is  hand- 
cuffed and  taken  away;  the  family  recognize  Mildmay's 
authority  and  worth. 

This  play  has  so  many  conditions  Precedent,  so  much 
that  is  in  the  air  and  in  the  nature  of  story,  and  is  so  much 
a  play  of  character  and  dwells  so  much  on  conditions,  that 
the  comjplications  are  in  the  Action  in  general  rather  than 
in  Plot.  Many  things  happen,  but  the  Plot  Action  is  sim- 
ple enough :  Mildmay  is  helpless  until  he  secures  proof  of 
the  criminality  of  Hawksley;  Hawksley  is  confident  of  vic- 
tory until  Mildmay  produces  the  forged  bill  and  forces 
Hawksley  to  return  the  compromising  letters  which  gave 
him  power  over  the  fortunes  of  the  family;  Mildmay  hav- 
ing to  produce  a  second  forged  bill,  which  Hawksley 
thinks  Mildmay  knows  nothing  of,  in  order  to  complete 
the  defeat  of  Hawksley  and  to  restore  himself  to  the 
affection  and  confidence  of  his  family. 

We  have  shown  that  a  Plot  can  be  put  in  few  words,  and 
that  if  you  go  beyond  a  certain  point  your  statement  of 
the  Plot  is  something  else,  including  an  account  of  the 
Action,  which  has  a  distinction  of  its  own  from  the  Plot. 
The  Plot  is  composed  of  the  decisive  happenings,  and  re- 
quires inevitably  a  series  of  direct  Causes  and  Effects. 
Let  us  assume  that  we  are  familiar  with  all  the  Conditions 


THD  PLOT  75 

Precedent  and  all  the  characters,  and  that  the  Proposition 
has  been  fixed.  We  put  ourselves  in  the  position  of  Mas- 
singer.  We  do  not  need  to  state,  for  our  own  information, 
the  innumerable  details.  Massinger  was  secure  of  his  play, 
"A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,"  when  he  procured  his 
Plot  which  is  substantially  as  follows:  In  order  to  dupe 
his  uncle  and  rehabilitate  himself.  Wellborn  gets  Lady  All- 
worth  to  consent  to  pretend  that  she  favors  him  as  a  suitor ; 
Sir  Giles  is  duped  into  the  belief  that  Wellborn  and  Lady 
Allworth  will  marry,  and  gives  Wellborn  the  money  to 
re-establish  himself  with.  Allworth  gets  Lord  Lovell  to 
carry  on  his  suit  for  the  hand  of  Margaret,  who  loves  him ; 
Sir  Giles  is  duped  and  gives  orders  to  the  curate  which 
enables  the  two  to  marry,  not  knowing  that  he  is  defeat- 
ing himself;  in  the  denouement,  Marrall,  who  has  been 
beaten  and  mistreated  by  Sir  Giles,  produces,  in  a  spirit 
of  revenge,  the  deed  which  has  robbed  Wellborn  of  his 
property,  having  erased  the  writing;  Sir  Giles  finding  him- 
self balked  in  his  schemes  both  for  money  and  for  the 
social  advancement  of  his  daughter,  dies  in  an  excess  of 
mad  rage.  This  takes  no  account  of  the  subordinate  char- 
acters, and  does  not  specify  the  means  by  which  the  details 
of  the  plot  are  to  be  carried  out  in  the  Plot  itself,  but  it 
presents  a  definite,  complete  Action,  with  a  beginning,  a 
middle  and  an  end.  It  conforms  to  the  Proposition.  It 
makes  no  mention  of  minor  characters  belonging  rather 
to  the  Action  than  to  the  Plot.  That  Lord  Lovell  and 
Lady  Allworth  marry  is  not  in  the  Proposition  and  is 
merely  Action  incidental  to  the  Plot.  They  do  not  have 
to  marry  to  carry  out  either  Proposition  or  the  main  Plot. 
Marrall's  trick  with  the  deed  is  an  extension  of  the  idea  of 
duping  Sir  Giles  and  may  fairly  be  called  a  part  of  the  Plot. 
Justice  Greedy  belongs  almost  entirely  to  the  Action,  not 
that  of  the  Plot,  but  of  the  detailed  movements  under  the 
Plot.  What  we  have  given  was  the  Author's  Plot,  at  least 
the  outline  which  assured  him  that  he  had  a  play.  We  might 
amplify  this  and  go  into  what  happens,  and  thus  secure 


j(y  ANALYSIS  O^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE^ 

a  more  developed  plot,  the  elaborate  pattern  from  which  he 
worked,  which  would  still  not  be  exactly  a  Scenario,  for  a 
Scenario  involves  detail,  technical  and  otherwise,  not  of 
the  Plot  proper:  Wellborn,  ruined  by  Sir  Giles,  reduced 
to  such  tattered  want,  so  low  in  habits  and  fortune,  that 
he  is  turned  from  the  alehouse^  determines  to  redeem  him- 
self. His  friend  Allworth  offers  to  assist  him,  but  he  will 
redeem  himself  in  his  own  way;  he  advises  Allworth  to 
give  up  his 'love  for  Sir  Giles's  daughter,  for  she  will  be 
permitted  only  to  marry  for  higher  social  position.  This 
is  the  foundation  of  the  Plot;  it  gives  merely  a  glimpse  of 
what  may  grow  out  of  the  condition  of  affairs.  It  gives 
things  by  way  of  visible  Action  leading  to  the  Plot.  The 
treatment  of  Wellborn  by  the  servants  and  the  advice  of 
Lady  Allworth  to  Tom,  which  makes  him  refuse  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  Wellborn  when  he  presents  him- 
self, belong  more  to  the  Action  than  to  the  Plot.  It  is 
incidentally  a  part  of  the  Plot,  but  not  absolutely  essential 
to  the  Plot.  They  are  movemients  of  the  second  hand,  not 
the  minute  hand.  Certainly  they  are  a  part  of  the  move- 
ment, but  you  cannot  see  any  definite  Plot  movement  in 
the  scene  of  the  servants.  As  soon  as  Wellborn  presents 
himself  there  is  an  obvious  movement.  He  will  see  her,  as 
he  does  see  her;  she  consents.  Plot.  Wellborn  persuades 
Marrall  to  accompany  him  to  dinner  at  Lady  Allworth's; 
he  consents ;  he  goes ;  he  sees  and  is  convinced  and  duped. 
Plot.  Marrall  tells  his  "fairy  story"  to  Sir  Giles  and  is 
beaten  for  it,  and  being  disposed  to  betray  Sir  Giles  by 
way  of  revenge  and  to  go  over  into  the  service  of  Wellborn, 
we  have  Plot  again.  Sir  Giles  furnishes  the  money  to  pay 
off  Wellborn's  debts.  Plot.  But  it  is  not  Plot  that  Well- 
born punishes  Tapwell  and  Froth.  The  Plot  gets  thick  to- 
ward the  end,  for  all  the  causes  reaching  far  back  into  the 
previous  Action  begin  to  count.  The  details  of  the  Plot 
become  a  part  of  it.  The  ring,  the  letter,  the  mistake  in  be- 
lieving that  Wellborn  and  Lady  Allworth  are  already  mar- 
ried, the  demanding  of  repayment,  the  production  of  the 


THK  PI<OT  77 

razed  deed,  all  Action,  are  fairly  of  the  Plot.  It  is  of  the 
Plot  when  Lord  Lovell  and  Margaret  come  to  an  under- 
standing, and  when  Sir  Giles  is  thereby  duped.  The  comic 
interruptions  of  Greedy  are  not  of  the  Plot.  Don't  you 
see  how  many  things  are  excluded  from  the  Author's  Plot? 
How  could  he  think  of  all  if  he  did  not  think  in  terms  of 
Plot  first?  He  must  first  get  at  what  series  of  happenings 
will  carry  out  his  Proposition,  and  then  only  proceed  to 
the  details  by  means  of  which  the  Plot  itself  may  be  carried 
out,  introducing  whatever  Episode  or  character  as  may  be 
permitted  or  called  for  by  the  circumstances  of  the  Action. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  ACTS. 

The  Division  into  Acts  is  primarily  a  Division  of  the 
Plot  or  Plot  Action  into  Periods  of  Progression. 

How  is  this  Division  accomplished?  By  assigning  to 
each  act  its  object,  which  may  be  given  in  a  word  or  a 
line.  How  can  that  word  or  line  be  a  Division  of  your 
material  in  any  scientific  sense?  You  could  not  indicate 
your  material  in  a  word  to  save  your  life.  Of  course  as 
we  progress  by  this  scientific  method  Material  is  involved, 
but  if  we  work  scientifically  what  difference  does  it  make 
whether  we  indicate  if  we  make  this  Division  into 
Acts  of  a  play  which  has  already  been  written,  or  of  a  play 
for  which  practically  all  the  Material  has  been  collected, 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  very  little  collected.  Riddle  me  this 
riddle.  It  may  seem  paradoxical  and  utterly  without  rea- 
son, but  if  you  will  contain  yourself  in  patience  you  may 
see  within  the  next  few  chapters  the  truth  of  it,  or  you 
mlay  never  understand  it.  I  shall  at  least  labor  to  make  it 
clear  to  you.  A  Proposition  is  an  absolute  necessity  and 
it  has  its  niceties  and  requirements  based  on  science.  You 
must  convince  yourself  that  it  is  a  law  of  universal  appli- 
cation. Just  as  we  h?ve  said  that  the  Material  must  be 
reduced  to  a  Proposition  before  the  dramatist's  mind  can 
operate  in  the  construction  of  a  play  and  a  use  of  his  Ma- 
terial, and  that  he  can  have  no  play  unless  he  can  state 
what  it  is  about  in  a  few  words,  in  the  same  way  we  beg 
you  to  believe  that  the  Division  into  Acts  is  based  on  the 
same  scientific  principle  of  reducing  the  object  of  each  act 
of  a  single  word  or  line.  We  reduce  from  the  general  to 
the  particular  all  the  time,  becoming  more  and  more 
definite  all  the  time,  enlarging  all  our  statements  all 
the  time.  We  have  seen  what  a  play  is  about  in 
Proposition  and  Plot  and  we  are  now  to  see  what  it  is 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  ACTS  79 

about  in  each  act.  Any  one  in  attempting  to  write  a  play, 
unless  he  is  without  the  artistic  sense,  necessarily  formu- 
lates what  he  knows  or  thinks  he  knows  about  the  art  and 
naturally  lays  out  his  Material  into  Acts.  To  the  unin- 
formed this  method  is  one  of  those  obvious  requirements 
that  anyone  can  see.  It  is  an  external  thing.  It  is  primi- 
tive and  a  matter  of  course,  but  if  applied  without  real 
knowledge  the  result  may  be  absolutely  absurd.  Does  the 
beginner  always  know  exactly  what  an  act  is?  It  would 
be  well  to  now  read  the  chapter  in  "The  Technique  of  the 
Drama"  on  the  Division  into  Acts.  The  older  Technique 
(which  the  beginner  uses  or  which  he  deduces  from  his 
own  external  observation  of  plays)  is  misleading  in  its 
insistence  on  climax.  We  shall  discuss  this  matter  in  an- 
other section  of  our  studies.  It  is  enough  now  that  we  ac- 
cept what  is  commonly  called  climax  at  the  end  as  a 
definite  point  in  the  progression  of  the  Action.  Each  act 
must  have  an  object  or  Proposition  and  carry  it  out.  Each 
act  must  accomplish  that  develoyment  of  your  story  which 
is  assigned  to  it.  At  the  end  of  each  act  you  have  reached 
a  predetermined  stage  of  the  journey.  The  following  Di- 
vision into  Acts  of  "Ingomar"  performs  its  function  in  in- 
dicating the  progressive  main  Action  of  the  play: 

ACT  FIRST.  -^ 

Parthenia  starts  on  her  mission  of  rescuing  her  father 
by  offering  herself  as  hostage.  How  to  get  her  started 
on  that  mission  you  mlay  not  know  in  detail  at  this  point 
in  your  work.    The  end  of  the  act  coincides  with  the  object. 

Parthenia. 
"The  Gods  are  with  us, 
So,  Farewell. 

Theano. 
Parthenia,  hear  me. 

Parthenia. 
Away,  away!  (rushes  off  as  curtain  falls.)" 


8o  ANALYSIS  0^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E 

ACT  SECOND. 

Parthenia  is  captive  in  the  camp  of  the  barbarians,  and 
begins  to  win  the  heart  of  the  leader,  Ingomar.  The  clos- 
ing lines  indicate  that: — 

Ingomar  (after  a  pause ;  in  deep  abstraction.) 
"Two  souls  with  a  single  thought. 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one." 
ACT  THIRD. 
Ingomar  releases  her,  and  will  accompany  her  on  her 
perilous  journey  for  her  protection.    Your  problem  was  to 
bring  that  about;  each  act  having  its  problem. 

Parthenia. 
"Forward,  the  guide  before.    I  will  follow  thee,  my 
friend,  protector." 

ACT  FOURTH. 
Ingomar  will  follow  further  still,  be  a  slave  for  her  sake. 

ACT  FIFTH. 
She  would  return  with  him,  for  his  sake,  to  his  life,  but 
he  is  made  Timarch,  and  their  happiness  and  union  is  com- 
plete. 

'/'  In  the  construction  of  your  play  you  must  know 
before  you  put  the  Divisions  down  what  you  want,  in  a 
general  way,  and  how  you  are  going  to  work  out  your 
objects  and  problems,  but  we  are  now  showing  you  the 
process  of  reducing  a  well  constructed,  complete  published 
play  to  its  Divisions.  If  these  Divisions  can  be  found  in 
every  successful  play,  is  it  your  opinion  that  they  exist  in 
those  plays  by  accident  or  by  design? 

The  slightest  examination  will  make  it  obvious  to  you 
that  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  is  divided  into  Acts  with  refer- 
ence to  its  Plot.  It  is  not  a  Division  of  the  Material  into 
Acts,  for  the  Plot  had  to  be  found  before  there  was  any- 
thing to  divide  into  what  could  properly  be  called  Acts. 
Each  Act  carries  the  Action  forward  to  a  certain  point 
with  reference  to  the  Plot  as  governed  by  the  Proposition. 
Thus,  the  first  act  advances  the  Action  to  the  point  where 


V 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  ACTS  8l 

Beauseant  resolves. on  and  jplans  revenue.  The  last  six 
words  in  the  preceding  sentence  constitute  a  statement  of 
the  object  of  the  act.  When  the  end  of  the  act  is  reached  the 
object  of  it  has  been  accomplished.  That  part  of  the  play- 
is  finished  v^rhen  dialogued.  That  part  of  the  Plot  has  been 
worked  out.  It  has  been  worked  out  by  the  use  of  all  the 
principles,  but  not  all  the  principles  were  called  upon  by 
the  author  in  the  mere  mechanism,  but  after  getting  his 
Proposition  and  his  Plot,  and  staking  off  his  Divisions, 
with  an  object  assigned  to  each  act  he  had  to  work  out 
the  Plot  of  that  act  and  all  the  details  of  the  Action. 
Your  study  of  the  Division  into  Acts  must  be  directed  to 
ascertaining  the  object  of  each  act,  why  it  had  and  why  it 
had  not  that  object  and  why  that  object  was  assigned  to  it. 
Your  analysis  of  a  play  furnishes  you  with  the  object  of 
an  act,  and  by  the  abundant  use  of  analysis  you  are  training 
your  mind  to  the  proper  method  of  work.  You  are  learn- 
ing the  art  gradually  and  almost  unconsciously.     At  the 

^  end  of  act  second  Melnotte  has  succeeded  in  his  deception 
and  has  gained  Paulme's  lo"^^'  TITe"nra?nage  is  atBand. 
Bulwer^'mighf  Tia'veTixed  upon  this  as  the  object  of  the 
second  act,  in  his  Division  of  the  Plot,  without  knowing 
himself  the  details  that  he  would  have  to  supply.  The 
success  of  Beauseant's  Plot  might  be  given  as  the  object 
of  this  act,  but  it  is  better  stated  above.  The  third  act  has 
for  its  object  to  bring  the  Action  up  to  the  point  where 

3  Pauline  discovers  the  deception  and  Melnotte  in  his  shame 
and  repentance"off^rs'"Tb  release  her- and  atone  for  the  de- 
ception. Act  fourth  brings  the  Action  up  to  his^surrender 
/    ofher,  her  growing  love  for  him  and  his  departure  for  the~ 

,•-.  war  to  redeem  himself.  In  Act  Fifth  Melnotte  rescues 
Pauline  from  marrying  Beauseant  by  paying  the  debts  of 
her-fath'Sf  "tipon  becoming  convinced  of  lier  constant  lOve. 
You  will  observe  that  the  bare  statement  of  the  objects  of 
the  Acts  indicates  a  constant  progress  and  development, 
with  a  beginning  a  middle  and  an  end  and  includes  Pro- 
position and  Plot.  In  analyzing  plays  with  reference  to  the 
6 


82  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

Division  into  Acts  you  are  asked  simply  to  describe  in  a 
few  words  the  object  of  each  act. 

We  have  said  that  the  Division  into  Acts  is  a  division 
of  Plot,  but  this  does  not  mean  that  technique  puts  a 
restriction  upon  the  operations  of  the  mind,  nor  does 
it  mean  that  science  is  to  be  disregarded  and  that 
we  are  not  to  be  technical.  The  dramatist  before  getting 
his  real  Plot  may  see  certain  Divisions  in  his  Material. 
That  is  a  simple  matter.  In  "Camille"  Dumas  saw  his 
beginning  in  bringing  the  lovers,  Armand  and  Camille, 
together;  the  end  he  had  already  decided  on.  Or  let  us 
say  that  he  had  his  middle,  the  sacrifice,  as  his  central 
idea.  The  other  two  natural  points  of  Division  were  at 
hand  without  further  thought,  the  details  being  left  for 
future  consideration.  The  second  act  became  an  exten- 
sion of  the  first  and  the  fourth  and  fifth  acts  fell  readily 
into  place  with  the  three  natural  Division.  Additional  acts 
may  be  an  after-thought.  Abundance  of  material  may 
have  required  it  in  this  case  or  a  technical  reason  may  have 
demanded  it.  In  a  way  the  play  could  do  without  the 
fourth  act.  Do  not  for  a  moment  imagine  that  it  could  be 
as  effective  without  it.  The  object  of  each  act  in  this  play 
could  be  put  in  many  ways  and  be  substantially  the  same. 
In  the  complete  mastery  of  his  subject  and  Material  Du- 
mas could  have  put  it :  First  act,  he  loves ;  second  act,  she 
loves  also ;  third  act,  she  renounces  him  in  sacrifice ;  fourth 
act,  she  proves  her  sincerity;  fifth  act,  her  expiation  and 
redemption  are  completed.  These  are  the  main  general 
ideas  that  belong  to  the  acts,  and  they  indicate  the  progress 
of  the  complete  Action.  The  description  could  be  more 
definite  as  to  actual  happenings:  i.  Armand  convinces 
Camiille  of  the  sincerity  of  his  love  and  purposes;  2.  Ca- 
mille, after  a  struggle,  comes  to  his  point  of  view,  renounces 
sordidness  and  chooses  between  him  and  Varville;  3.  She 
is  forced  by  Armand's  father  for  the  sake  of  the  happiness 
of  Armand  to  renounce  him;  4.  This  sacrifice  is  followed 
by  the  further  sacrifice  of  everything,  of  both  lovers;  5. 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  ACTS  83 

Purified  by  her  sacrifice,  she  is  rewarded  with  a  reunion 
with  Armand  as  she  dies.  This  Division  into  acts  is  one 
of  the  first  things  that  a  dramatist  does  as  soon  as  he  can, 
in  order  to  begin  the  handling  of  his  Material.  It  is  en- 
tirely probable  that  Dumas  made  his  Division  into  Acts 
very  early.  He  then  readily  referred  certain  things  in  his 
Material  to  the  act  to  which  it  belonged.  After  this  general 
Division  has  been  made  the  Material  begins  to  fall  into 
order,  much  of  it  having  been  determined  upon  without 
the  slightest  reference  to  any  particular  act.  Obviously 
the  supper  scene  fell  to  the  first  act.  Naturally  the  Episode 
at  the  beginning  of  the  third  act  with  Gustave  and  Nichette 
at  once  found  its  place.  Thus  each  act  gathered  its  proper 
Material  as  a  magnet.  Order  came  out  of  disorder ;  gradu- 
ally a  place  was  found  for  everything.  Some  things  can  be 
used  anywhere.  Character,  for  example,  is  something  that 
in  itself  must  exist  throughout,  although  some  of  its  mani- 
festations and  some  of  the  incidents  belonging  to  it  can 
only  be  used  at  the  demand  of  the  Action. 

In  the  case  of  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep,"  apart  from 
the  general  idea  suggested  in  the  title,  the  middle 
of  the  play  was  the  most  prominent  landmark  of  the  dram- 
atist at  the  outset.  There  was  a  situation.  It  had  to  be. 
There  was  no  hesitation  about  this  Division.  The  situa- 
tion had  to  be  reached  by  a  first  act,  and  a  third  act  was 
needed  to  show  what  came  of  it.  The  Proposition  involved 
the  defeat  of  Hawksley  on  two  points,  his  financial  swin- 
dle and  his  intrigue  against  Mildmay's  domestic  peace.  The 
second  act  goes  far  to  dispose  of  Hawksley,  but  to  end  it 
there  would  not  satisfy  the  Proposition;  Mildmay  had  to 
be  restored  to  authority  in  his  own  household.  That  was 
absolutely  necessary,  and  the  third  act  was  determined  on 
by  Taylor  before  he  had  the  details  of  it  in  his  mind.  This 
assumes  that  ALL  the  details  were  not  at  hand  in  being 
supplied  by  the  original  novel.  Even  if  he  followed  the 
novel,  the  existence  of  the  Material  merely  saved  him 
thought  and  invention;  he   still  had  to  give   it  dramatic 


84  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

form.     It  is  misleading  to  suppose  that  the  first  act  of  a 
play  is  merely  introductory  and  for  the  purpose  of  estab- 
lishing the  relations  between  the  characters.     There  must 
be  Action  and  progress  from  the  beginning,  development 
not  only  of  character  but  of  Plot.     The  end  of  the  first 
act  brings  it  up  to  the  point  where  we  see  that  Mildinay 
^  t  holds  some  weapon  behind  his  back  with  which  he  may 
defend  himself  against  Hawksley  and  perhaps  defeat  him 
^^'^entirely.    Whereas  at  the  opening  of  the  act  Hawksley  had 
\A''n\/^     everything  his  own  way,  at  the  end  of  it  the  relations  had 
ju^  .^changed  and  are  in  process  of  change.     Hawksley  has  de- 

feated himself  with  the  aunt,  although  he  continues  to  the 


^'^^  ii/^  ^^^^  ^^  think  that  Emily  will  be  silly  enough  to  remain  un- 
J^l^  V^  der  his  influence.  But  the  audience  hopes  that  Mildmay 
can  produce  another  concealed  weapon  and  defeat  Hawk- 
sley. Those  things  that  have  been  definitely  settled  only 
add  to  the  tensity  of  the  remaining  complications.  Mrs. 
Sternhold,  we  are  sure,  will  keep  safe  watch  on  Emily. 
Still,  unless  Mildmay  can  completely  expose  Hawksley 
there  is  going  to  be  danger  in  his  household.  Hawksley 
might  fail  in  his  amorous  intrigues,  and  yet  Mildmay  may 
not  be  restored  to  authority.  What  to  assign  as  the  object 
of  each  act  was  plain  enough. 

The   first   act   of   "A    New   Way    to   Play    Old    Debts" 
|,   brings  the  Action   up  to  the   point  where   Wellborn   has 
gained  the  consent  of  Lady  Allworth  to  help  him  in  his 
new  way  to  pay  old  debts.    At  the  end  of  the  second  act 
Wellborn  has  succeeded  in  getting  his  deception  so  far  ad- 
vanced that  Sir  Giles  shall  hear  of  his  favor  with   Lady 
Allworth  through  Marrall.    At  the  end  of  the  third  act  Sir 
'%  Giles  has  supplied  him  with  money.     At  the  end  of  the 
t  ^  fourth,  the  two  issues  in  the  Proposition  now  being  joined, 
Sir  Giles  is  duped  into  believing  that  his  daughter  is  to 
marry  Lord  Lovell  and  that  he  can  wrest  Wellborn's  new 
estates  from  him.     At  the  end  of  the  fifth  act  the  decep- 
tions practiced  on  him  culminate  in  success.  Sir  Giles  is 
defeated  and  dies  in  an  excess  of  rag-e  and  madness.  Sooner 


the:  division  into  acts  85 

or  later  these  five  points  were  all  definitely  established. 
Getting  the  ends  of  the  acts,  Massinger  constructed  back- 
w^ards  from  them.  Of  course,  he  knew  who  Wellborn  was 
when  he  fixed  the  end  of  the  first  act,  but  he  had  to  estab- 
lish who  he  was  and  he  had  to  supply  all  the  causes  and 
incidents  leading  up  to  the  end  of  the  act.  How  to  secure 
the  end  of  each  act,  how  to  go  back  to  the  beginning  of 
each  allotted  space  in  the  journey  and  trace  each  step  was 
the  concern.  Did  he  begin  at  the  beginning  without  further 
concern  and  pace  it,  or  write  it,  off-hand?  Just  as  he  ar- 
rived at  the  proper  Division  into  Acts,  he  arrived  at  what 
was  to  be  assigned  to  each  act,  and  it  was  a  matter  of 
Sequence  before  he  could  pace  it  off  step  by  step.  It  did 
not  mlatter  when  the  servants'  scene  came  to  him ;  down 
it  went  in  his  notes,  and  its  proper  place  was  found  when 
the  Division  into  Acts  was  made.  Whether  the  Plot  was 
definite  or  not  at  the  time,  the  probable  place  for  this  or 
that  bit  of  Material  suggested  itself.  In  the  first  form  it 
may  have  been  Life  pure  and  simple ;  it  had  to  be  converted 
into  the  dramatic.  Some  of  the  original  divisions  were 
necessarily  tentative  and  were  changed,  but  it  is  common 
enough  to  get  the  Division  into  Acts  at  the  first  throw 
of  the  net.  The  objects  of  each  act  as  we  have  given  them 
do  not  cover  and  could  not  cover  the  details  even  of  the 
Plot.  The  subordinate  Actions  had  also  to  be  carried  on. 
Everything  gradually  fell  into  place.  Much  of  it  came  into 
being  after  the  Action  took  on  continuous  form.  Oppor- 
tunities for  the  use  of  Greedy  caused  new  material.  It  is 
not  at  all  meant  that  you  must  have  your  material  first  and 
then  distribute  it;  the  creative  process  continues  and  it 
is  helped  by  the  growth  in  form.  But  the  Division  into 
Acts  helps  that  growth  and  it  is  one  of  the  first  things  that 
the  author  naturally  turns  to. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES. 

The  Division  into  Scenes  is  the  Division  of  the  Action 
into  units  of  Action. 

We  discuss  Action  a  little  later  on.  It  is  enough  to  say 
now  that  Action  is  involved  in  every  part  of  a  play  that  we 
have  already  described,  consequently  it  is  not  a  contradic- 
tion of  terms  to  refer  to  the  Division  into  Scenes  as  a  Divi- 
sion of  the  Action.  In  a  general  way  it  might  also  be  de- 
scribed as  a  Division  of  the  Plot  into  Scenes,  but,  the  defi- 
nition as  it  stands  is  universal,  including  the  play  of  only 
one  act.  When  a  play  has  more  than  one  act  the  Division 
into  Scenes  is  made  under  each  act  and  properly  speaking 
is  a  Division  into  Scenes  of  the  Plot  Action  of  that  act, 
but  there  are  many  Scenes  that  do  not  belong  to  the  Plot 
but  do  belong  to  the  Action  generally.  Some  of  these 
Scenes  are  used  to  r^eet  a  technical  emergency,  to  give 
time  for  an  Entrance,  to  afford  Episode,  to  provide  con- 
cealed Preparation,  or  they  are  Scenes  of  transition  or 
gradation,  with  a  number  of  distinctions  that  it  would  be 
premature  to  make  at  this  point. 

We  have  seen  that  each  Division  so  far  made  has  a 
definite  object.  Just  as  a  play  itself  must  have  a  definite 
object  as  given  in  its  Proposition,  so  each  act  must  have  a 
definite  object  or  Proposition;  and  we  are  now  to  see  that 
each  scene  must  have  a  definite  Proposition  or  object. 
This  applies  particularly  to  Scenes  in  which  there  is  some- 
thing at  issue,  but  there  are  scenes  that  involve  only  a  tech- 
nical object  and  can  hardly  be  described  as  having  a  Pro- 
position. The  consequences  and  essentials  of  this  law  that 
a  scene  must  have  one  main  object  will  be  unfolded  as 
opportunity  presents.  You  must  convince  yourself  of  the 
fact  that  a  play  is  largely  written  by  means  of  Scenes  and 
that  a  Division  into  Scenes  is  as  important  as  the  Division 


rut  DIVISION   INTO  SCENES  87 

into  Acts.  The  English  writers  have  rarely  made  a  formal 
Division  into  numbered  Scenes  in  their  manuscripts  or 
printed  plays.  The  continental  writers  invariably  do  so 
and  it  is  the  proper  and  scientific  method.  But,  in  any 
event,  any  play  that  is  a  play  has  its  Scenes  and  they  are 
susceptible  of  being  numbered.  If  a  play  cannot  be  di- 
vided into  distinct  scenes  it  is  not  a  play;  but  we  must 
reserve  a  full  discussion  of  the  peculiar  technical  nature 
and  qualities  of  scene.  One  thing  at  a  time.  A  Scene  is 
usually  formed  and  numbered  according  to  the  Exit  or 
Entrance  of  an  important  character.  For  the  present  ac- 
cept this  as  the  law.  Again  we  take  "Ingomar"  as  a  model 
for  instruction: 

ACT  FIRST. 

Scene  i : — 

Certain  facts  are  conveyed,  but  they  are  all  subor- 
dinated to  the  one  object  of  the  scene, — Actea  wishes 
to  see  her  daughter. 

Scene  2: — 

The  mother  urges  her  to  marry  "the  rich  Polydor," 
and  we  have  additional  facts,  arguments,  emptions, 
&c.,  but  the  object  of  the  scene  is  accomplished,  and 
the  Proposition  of  it  worked  out,  when  Parthenia 
refuses  to  consent  to  her  mother's  urgings  to  marry 
Polydor. 

Scene  3: — 

(This  lesson,  by  the  way,  has  nothing  to  do  with 
any  discussion  as  to  the  use  of  soliloquies ;  one  thing 
at  a  time;  technically  and  effectively  this  soliloquy 
accomplishes  its  purpose.)  Will  Parthenia  make  up 
her  mind  to  marry  Polydor?  That  is  the  Proposi- 
tion of  it;  the  statement  of  the  object  of  the  scene, 
is:  Parthenia  makes  up  her  mind  to  consent,  to  sell 
herself  and  "let  the  price  be  well  secured." 


88  ANAI.YSIS  O^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E: 

Scene  4: — 

There  is  much  included  in  this  scene,  but  every- 
thing is  comprehended  under  the  object  of  the  scene; 
Parthenia  refuses   Polydor. 
Scene  5: — 

This  scene  carries  the  Action  on  to  another  step: 
Polydor  will  be  revenged  on  her  by  driving  the  father 
from  home  and  ruining  him. 
Scene   6: — 

Object:    Lykon  comes  to  bring  bad  news. 
Scene  7: — 

Lykon  tells    Theano    that  Myron,  the  father,  has 
been  made  captive  by  the  Allemanni. 
Scene  8: — 

A  further  development  of  the  facts,  friends  and 
citizens  coming  on  the  stage  attracted  by  the  news. 
Scene  9: — 

Actea,  the  mother,  is  told  the  news.  She  swoons 
and  is  carried  into  the  house.  Accurately  speaking 
this  makes  another  scene,  but  we  may  count  it  as 
one  with  the  two  speeches  that  follow.  It  is  really  a 
scene  necessary  to  give  Parthenia  her  entrance. 
Scene  10: — 

The  object  of  this  scene  is  to  show  that  Parthenia 
can  get  no  help  for  the  ransoming  of  her  father  from 
his  or  her  friends  and  will  appeal  to  the  Timarch. 
Scene  11 : — 

She  fails  with  the  Timarch,  his  explanations  being 
subordinate  to  the  result  of  the  scene. 
Scene  12: — 

Parthenia  changes  her  mind  and  appeals  to  Poly- 
dor, who  scorns  her  and  leaves  her  helpless  indeed. 
Scene  13: — 

We  see  that  Parthenia  has  taken  a  resolve. 
Scene  14: — 

Parthenia  announces  her  resolve  to  go  to  the 
mountains.  So,  there  you  have  all  the  details  lead- 
ing up  to  what  was  the  object  of  the  Act. 


THE  DIVISION   INTO  SCENES  89 

ACT  SECOND. 

Scene  i : — 

The  camp ;  we  see  that  they  are  barbarians  indeed. 

Scene  2: — 

That  Ingomar  is  the  chief,  and,  incidentally,  that 
Myron,  Parthenia's  father,  is  captive. 

Scene  3:  — 

To  show  Ingomar's  opinion  of  a  woman, — all  else 
is  incidental,  necessary  as  it  is. 
Scene  4: — 

The  freebooters  are  returning. 
Scene  5 : — 

We  learn  that  the  daughter  has  come  to  entreat 
for  ransom  for  the  whining  old  mjan. 
Scene  6: — 

Ingomar  accepts  her  as  hostage  for  the  father. 
Scene  7: — 

Parthenia  and  her  father.  This  is  really  a  part  oi 
the  complete  scene  which  does  not  end  until  Ingo- 
mar accepts  the  offer;  but  it  is  marked  as  a  scene  to 
show  how  distinctly  every  part  of  a  play  should 
stand  out. 
Scene  8: — 

Parthenia    defines    her    position.      And     goes     to 
"cleanse  the  cups." 
Scene  9: — 

To  show  the  effect  on  Ingomar  of  the  girl's  inde- 
^       pendence. 
Scene  10: — 

Parthenia's  growing  power  over  Ingomar  brought 
out  in  the  making  of  the  wreath  and  their  dialogue. 
Scene  11 : —  ' 

Parthenia's  state  of  mind. 
Scene  12: — 

To  show  that  the  barbarian  is  brought  to  meditate 
on  the  lesson  in  love  that  he  has  had  from  Parthenia. 


90  ANAI.YSIS  O?  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E 

ACT  THIRD 
Scene  i : — 

To  show  that  the  other  barbarians  are  discontent- 
ed ;  and  the  danger  of  Parthenia. 
Scene  2: — 

Ingomar,  indifferent  to  war,  absorbed  in  love,  puts 
his  warriors  off. 
Scene  3: — 

The  state  of  mind  shown  in  his  soliloquy,  chang- 
ing his  nature  gradually. 
Scene  4: — 

A  passionate  love  scene,  in  which  he  would  enjoy 
her  in  his  own  way;  her  offer  to  slay  herself,  &c., — 
the  object,  that  he  bids  her  go  free. 
Scene  5: — 

That  Parthenia  will  see  him  again  and  soften  his 
heart  before  she  leaves. 

Nearly  all  these  scenes  are  rich  is  subordinate 
things,  but  this  lesson  is  to  get  you  into  the  habit  of 
seeing  that  a  scene — like  an  act  and  the  play  itself, 
must  have  one  ultimate  object,  that  it  must  accom- 
plish one  specific  thing. 

Scene  6: — 

The  other  savage  barbarians,  of  whose  spirit  we 
have  been  kept  in  mind,  come  to  settle  Parthenia's 
fate. 
Scene  7: — 

Ingomar  saves  her.    We  could  make  the  two  en- 
trances and  exits  scenes,  but  we  shall  count  them  as 
one  scene  here. 
Scene  8: — 

Ingomar   bargains  with  the  barbarians   and  gets 
Parthenia  for  his  portion. 
Scene  9: — 

Ingomar  will  conduct  her  safely  home  This  last 
scene  reaches  also  the  object  of  the  act. 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  9 1 

ACT  FOURTH. 
Scene    i : — 

Myron  and  others  trying  to  raise  the  ransom. 
Scene  2: — 

Lykon  is  trying  to  get  the  citizens  together. 
Scene  3: — 

The  struggle  of  the  parting  of  the  lovers  after  In- 
gomar  has  conducted  Parthenia  to  the  very  gates  of 
her  home.  Seemingly  they  part — that  is  the  object 
of  the  scene,  to  show  their  love  and  seeming  parting; 
all  else  is  incidental. 
Scene  4: — 

To  show^  Parthenia's  absolute  love;  her  grief  at 
Ingomar's  departure. 
Scene  5: — 

Ingomar's  return;  his  inclination   to  follow  her; 
renouncing  his  tribe  for  love. 
Scene  6: — 

The  final  and  absolute  yielding  of  Ingomar. 

ACT  FIFTH. 
Scene  i : — 

Myron  is  wanted  at  the  council. 
Scene   2: — 

What  for? 
Scene  3: — 

The  Allemanni  swarm  about  the  city;  a  spy  is 
suspected. 
Scene  4: — 

Suspicion  falls  on  Ingomar. 
Scene  5 : — 

Polydor,  still  bent  on  revenge,  takes  advantage  of 
conditions. 
Scene  6: — 

Parthenia's  defense  of  Ingomar  to  her  mother 
Scene  7: — 

Parthenia's   mother  accuses  Ingomar  of  being  a 
spy. 


92  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

Scene  8: — 

Parthenia's  mother  insists  on  the  unfaith  of  In- 
gomar. 
Scene  9: — 

Ingomar  and  Parthenia,  a  preparation  for  his  be- 
coming a  Greek. 
Scene  10: — 

Myron  comes  to  tell   Ingomar  that  the  Timarch 
will  honor  him — a  preparation  for  the  change  of  re- 
lations between  the  lovers. 
Scene   11: — 

The  Timarch  makes  an  offer  that  seems  infamous 
to  Ingomar — involving  the  betrayal  of  his  old  com- 
rades— but  such  are  the  terms  only  by  which  he  can 
become  a  citizen  and  have  Parthenia. 
Scene   12: — 

To  show  Myron's  character;  oppose  the  marriage. 
Scene  13: — 

Myron  tells  Ingomar  to  go — that  he  has  endan- 
gered himself  by  harboring  him. 
Scene   14 : — 

Ingomar  gives  up  hope    of    gaining    Parthenia — 
determines  to  leave. 
Scene  15: — 

Parthenia  hearing  of  his  resolution,  will  go  with 
him,  abandoning  her  people,  as  he  abandoned  his  for 
her. 
Scene  16: — 

Myron  and  Actea  reproach  Parthenia. 
Scene  17: — 

Polydor,  having  possessed  himself  of  all  the  notes 
of  indebtedness  of  Myron,  is  about  to  ruin  him,  &c. ; 
Ingomar,  for  Parthenia's  sake,  will  remain  as  a  slave 
to  save  him. 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  93 

Scene  i8: — 

The  barbarians,  his  old  companions,  come  to  res- 
cue and  protect  Ingomar.     He   refuses    to   go  with 
them.    Polydor  is  thwarted ;  peace  is  made ;  Ingomar 
is  made  Timarch ;  the  two  lovers  will  be  happy. 
Each  lesson  teaches  you  a  number  of  things  which  are 
not  even   revealed  in  what  is  immediately   in  hand;   the 
main  thing  in  this  lesson  is  to  have  you  convince  yourself 
that  the  division  into  scenes  is  essential  to  good  work. 

These  pages  being  intended  for  the  student  and  not  the 
casual  reader,  I  would  suggest  that  the  student  omit  read- 
ing the  Division  into  Scenes  of  the  plays  that  follow,  and 
that  he  make  out  his  own  Divisions  after  having  finished 
all  the  remaining  pages  of  this  analytical  section  and  then 
compare  his  Divisions  with  those  already  made. 

This  is  the  Division  of  Scenes  of  "The  Lady  of 
Lyons" : — 

ACT  FIRST. 

Set  Scene  i. 

Scene  i : — 

-  To  introduce  the  characters  and  their  relations 
and  to  show  certain  facts,  but  to  have  all  these  de- 
tails conform  to  the  one  main  idea  of  the  scene, 
namely,  the  pride  of  Pauline.  The  play  concerns  her 
pride;  this  is  the  first  note.  The  facts  proving  such 
pride  are  essential  in  other  ways,  but  everything 
centers  in  her  pride.  It  is  not,  as  some  students 
suggest,  that  flowers  are  being  sent  by  Claude  Mel- 
notte,  for  the  audience  knows  nothing  of  him.  That 
is  only  an  incidental  fact  showing  that  she  has  suit- 
ors who  minister  to  her  pride,  his  being  unknown 
making  it  all  the  more  flattery.  She  is  rich,  proud 
and  flattered,  and  expects  to  marry  at  her  own  choice 
some  suitor  of  high  estate. 
Scene  2: — 

Object :  The  rejection  of  Beauseant  and  his  conse- 
quent resentment. 


94  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.^ 

Scene  3: — 

Is  composed  of  the  single  speech  of  the  mother. 
It  is  a  connective  scene  merely.     Its  main  object  in 
the  mind  of  the  author  was  technical. 
Scene  4: — 

Mainly  to  show  that  Damas  has  no  sympathy  with 
her  pretensions  and  pride.  That  is  the  visible  main 
object,  but  it  has  another  concealed  and  vital  object, 
that  of  Preparation,  the  nature  of  which  principle 
will  be  pointed  out  under  its  proper  head. 
Scene  5 : — 

A  connective  scene,  or  rather  one  included  under 
the  head  of  Gradation.  It  rounds  the  Action  off  in 
conclusion  of  the  Action  that  takes  place  in  the  first 
Act. 

Set  Scene  2. 
Scene  i : — 

Main  object: — to  have  Beauseant  and  Glavis  con- 
spire and  "think  of  some  plan  to  humble  Pauline." 
Scene  2: — 

To  have  them  hear  of  "The  Prince,"  Claude, 
through  the  landlord,  and  to  set  on  foot  their  Plot. 
The  speeches  after  the  exit  of  the  landlord  could 
be  divided,  in  a  close  division,  into  an  additional 
scene. 

Set  Scene  3. 
Scene  i : — 

An  introductory  and  connective  scene, — Claude's 
arrival  home. 
Scene  2: — 

Main  object: — to  show  Claude's  love  and  his  hope 
or  expectation  of  a  favorable  reply  from  Pauline  to 
his  message  of  love. 
Scene  3: — 

Melnotte's  disappointment,  humiliation  and  rage 
at  his  rejection  and  the  treatment  of  his  messenger. 


TH^  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  95 

Scene  4: — 

A  scene  supplementary  to  the  preceding,  showing, 
in  his  outbreak  to  his  mother,  his  rage  and  mortifi- 
cation. 
Scene  5 : 

The  receipt  of  Beauseant's  letter,  and  his  opportu- 
nity to  "bring  scorn  for  scorn." 
ACT  SECOND. 
Set  Scene  i. 
Scene   i : — 

The  Plot  having  succeeded  so  far,  it  remains  for 
the  marriage  to  take  place  at  once. 
Scene  2: — 

This  is  to  bring  in  objectively  the  fact  of  the  suc- 
cess of  Melnotte;  but,  just  as  scene  first  made  pro- 
gress in  the  design  to  have  the  marriage  take  place 
at  once,  this  makes  progress  and  has  special  Action 
in  indicating  the  danger  to  Melnotte  from  the  sus- 
picion of  Damas. 
Scene  3  : —  1 

The  technical  object  of  this  scene  is  largely  con- 
nective or  conjunctive ;  the  w^hispered  remonstrances 
of  Beauseant  and  Glavis  lead  up  to  the  next  scene 
with  Damas. 
Scene  4: — 

To   cause  the   outburst   of   Damas,   who   affronts 
and  challenges  Melnotte. 
Scene  5 : — 

Conjunctive,  leading  up  to  the  scene  between  the 
two  lovers. 
Scene  6: — 

The  real  object  of  this  scene  (without  which  it 
is  meaningless  and  without  Action)  is  Melnotte's 
struggle  with  himself  and  his  test  of  her  love, — if 
she  should  love  him  for  himself  and  not  as  a  Prince 
only.  The  result  of  his  test  is  that  he  believes  that 
she  loves  him,  and  he  will  break  his  bargain  or  oath 
with  the  two  conspirators. 


96  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

Scene  7: — 

To  have  them  convince  him  that  he  cannot  retreat. 
Scene  8: — 

To  convert  Damas  into  a  friend  through  the  duel 
and  to  hold  out  the  chance  for  refuge  in  the  army. 
Scene  9: — 

To  have  Beauseant  spring  his  trick  to  hasten  the 
marriage. 
Scene  10 — 

To  carry  the  trick  through. 
Scene  11: — 

To  clench  the  trick  and  draw  the  act  to  a  close. 
ACT  THIRD. 
Set  Scene  i. 
Scene  i : — 

Introductory, — to  shov^  that  Melnotte  has  married 
Pauline  and  arrived  at  the  Inn. 
Scene   2: — 

Connective ;  Beauseant  and  Glavis  at  hand  to  wit- 
ness results. 
Scene  3: — 

To  show  the  remorse  of  Melnotte  and  his  scorn 
of  the  two  conspirators. 
Scene  4: — 

Conjunctive,  but  indicating  that  he  will  not  con- 
fess his  villainy  until  she  is  at  his  mother's  cottage. 
Scene  5 : — 

Conjunctive, — showing  that  she  has  no  suspicion. 
Scene  6: — 

How  to  induce  her  to  accompany  him  to  the  cot- 
tage. 

Set  Scene  2. 
Scene  i : — 

Main  object, — with  reference  to  the  Action, — to 
show  that  the  mother  believes  that  Melnotte  has  re- 
vealed his  artifice  to  Pauline.  (Do  you  not  see  that 
the  facts  brought  forward  otherwise  are  incidental?) 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  97 

Scene  2: — 

The  revelation  to  Pauline ;  her  horror. 
Scene  3: — 

Melnotte's  passionate  defence  and  its  effect  on  her 
to  make  her  "cease  to  hate  him;"  his  offer  to  free 
her. 
Scene  4: — 

He  confides  her  for  the  night  to  his  mother. 
ACT  FOURTH. 
Set  Scene  i. 
Scene  i : — 

Introductory; — he  will  enlist  to  atone. 
Scene  2: — 

Connective;  talk  v^ith  the  mother,  his  design  to 
win  back  an  honest  name.  We  may  count  as  a  scene 
the  widow's  lines  when  alone,  but  it  is  not  absolutely 
necessary  to  do  so.  One  technical  use  of  them,  is  to 
give  Pauline  her  entrance. 
Scene  3 : — 

Showing  the  state  of  mind  of  Pauline — loving  but 
not  ready  to  forgive. 
Scene  4: — 

The  widow's  confirmation  and  proof  of  Melnotte's 
love  for  Pauline  plays  upon  her  hesitating  position. 
Scene  5 : — 

Beauseant's  ruse  to  get  the  widow  away. 
Scene  6: — 

Beauseant's   appeal   and    Pauline's   steadfastness; 
Beausant's   familiarity. 
Scene  7: — 

Melnotte  rescues  her  from  his  embrace,  adding  to 
Beauseant's  spirit  of  revenge,  and  bringing  out  Pau- 
line's state  of  mind. 
Scene  8: — 

Conjunctive,  but  still  playing  on  the  state  of  mind 
and  relation. 
7 


98  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

Scene  9: — 

Conjunctive  and  preparatory  for  the  coming  of 
Pauline's  parents, — still  playing  on  Pauline's  state 
of  mind  and  the  relations. 

Scene  10: — 

Accomplishes  two  objects  of  almost  equal  import- 
ance, the  separation  of  the  lovers  and  the  departure 
of  Melnotte  v^ith  Damas  for  the  Wars,  the  latter 
being  subordinate.  The  last  lines  of  Pauline  may  be 
considered  of  the  one  scene. 

ACT  FIFTH. 
Set  Scene  i. 

Scene  i : — 

Introductory; — essential  facts  of  Conditions  Pre- 
cedent conveyed. 
Scene  2: — 

To  prepare  for  Morier,  as  Melnotte  is  now  known. 
Scene  3: — 

To  further  develop  the  conditions  and  to  confirm 
our  suspicions  of  Morier  as  Melnotte. 

Scene  4: — 

To  inform  Damas  of  the  real  state  of  affairs,  that 
Pauline  is  about  to  consent  to  a  divorce;  to  make 
him;  believe  that  Pauline  may  be  constant.  (Other 
facts  are  subordinate,  important  as  they  are  in  de- 
veloping the  Action  here.) 
Scene  5: — 

To  have  Deschapelles  invite  Damas  to  the  signing 
of  the  papers. 
Scene  6: — 

To  have  Melnotte  doubt  Pauline's  constancy. 
Scene  7: — 

To  have  Damas  bid  him  hope  and  persuade  him 
to  go  with  him  to  the  house,  as  he  would  not  be 
known. 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  99 

Set  Scene  2. 

Scene  i : —  .  ~ 

To  show  that  Pauline  still  loves,  but  must  sacri- 
fice herself  to  save  her  father. 
Scene  2: — 

To  convince  her  that  there  is  no  hope, — that  the 
sacrifice  must  be. 
Scene  3: — 

Beauseant  denies   Pauline   mercy   and   insists   on 
the  contract  of  marriage. 
Scene  4: — 

This  is  a  composite  scene,  that  is,  one  in  which 
several  distinct  and  yet  related  incidents  take  place. 
First,  Damas  learns  why  she  has  consented  to  marry 
Beauseant;  second,  introduces  her  to  Morier;  third, 
their  interview  in  which  she  gives  her  message  of 
devotion  to  Melnotte;  fourth,  Melnotte's  paying  of 
the  debt  and  Beauseant's  defeat. 
Scene  5 : — 

The  reconciliation  of  all  concerned;  happiness; 
the  end.  This  division  of  the  Material  and  the  acts 
into  scenes  is  with  reference  to  the  Action ;  we  have 
given  the  object  of  each  scene  to  that  purpose. 
Scenes  have  other  objects  even  than  the  subordinate 
ones  which  appear  in  the  scenes  as  acted  and  seen. 
They  have  objects  which  are  not  seen,  and  which, 
in  a  certain  sense,  are  often  the  main  objects, — but 
of  that  later. 

THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  OF  "CAMILLE." 

In  the  preliminary  analytical  exercises  we  have  consid- 
ered the  Division  into  Scenes  with  reference  simply  to  the 
main  object  of  each  scene.  We  shall  now  pass  beyond  that 
restriction  and  discuss  Division  into  Scenes  as  it  is  influ- 
enced by  all  the  principles  and  by  their  technical  require- 
ments.   For  this  purpose  we  first  take  up  "Camille." 


lOO  ANALYSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

ACT  FIRST. 
Scene  i : — Varville  awaits  Camille.  This  scene  consists  o! 
but  four  speeches,  and  ends  upon  the  entrance  of 
Nichette.  Every  idea  conveyed  in  it  is  definite. 
That  Camille  is  not  to  return  until  half-past  ten, 
and  that  it  is  not  yet  ten,  serves  the  immediate' 
purpose  of  preparing  us  for  the  entrance  of  some 
one  not  Camille,  and  also  keeps  the  audience  at 
ease  in  the  Dialogue  between  Nanine  and  Varville 
in  the  third  scene.  Thus  not  a  word  in  the  scene 
is  lost.  The  scene  stands  out  in  its  function  with 
absolute  distinctness. 

Scene  2: — The  second  scene  begins  with  the  entrance  of 
Nichette  and  ends  with  her  exit.  The  immediate 
technical  object  of  it  is  to  give  occasion  for  the 
third  scene  and  its  Dialogue. 

In  the  original  French  these  scenes  are  num- 
bered ;  in  French's  edition  they  are  not.  But  if  we 
follow  the  number  of  Divisions,  a  comparison  with 
the  original  will  show  that  our  arrangement  is 
identical  except  as  it  may  be  influenced  by  slight 
changes  in  the  adaptation  made  by  Mathilda 
Heron.  In  addition  to  the  numbering  of  scenes, 
the  French  author  always  puts  at  the  head  of  the 
scene  the  characters  involved  in  it;  for  instance. 
Scene  2,  Varville,  Nanine  and  Nichette.  One  object 
of  the  author  was  to  introduce  Nichette  at  this 
point  in  order  to  avoid  the  crowding  of  introduc- 
tions at  other  points  in  the  Action.  Nichette  is 
made  to  serve  a  technical  purpose,  and  her  story  is 
incidentally  brought  out.  In  the  next  scene,  in- 
volved in  it  and  as  a  corellary  to  it,  it  is  shown  that 
Camille  has  humble  friends,  and  that  they  love 
her. 

Scene  3: — The  third  scene  brings  out  the  fact  as  its  main 
object  that  Varville's  suit  does  not  thrive,  and  in- 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  lOI 

cidentally  it  conveys  the  previous  history  of  Ca- 
mille. 

See  how  naturally  the  Sequence  flows.  As  soon 
as  Nichette  goes  out,  Varville  asks,  Who  is  she? 
She  is  a  girl  that  Camille  is  fond  of,  for  they 
worked  together  in  the  same  room.  Varville  had 
not  known  before  that  Camille  had  been  an  em- 
broideress,  a  working  girl.  Everything  that  is  said 
is  so  naturally  brought  out  that  the  essential  idea 
impresses  us  as  one  thing,  an  explanation  of  Ca- 
mille's  indifference  to  all  men  and  consequently  to 
Varville. 

Scene  4: — The  object  of  this  scene  is  to  show  definitely 
that  Camille  does  not  care  for  Varville. 

Incidental  facts   are  introduced.     We   see  that 
Camille  is  ill.    We  learn  that  she  has  been  at  the 
Opera,  where  she  has  met  Olimpe  and  Gaston  who 
will  be  here  presently. 

Scene  5 : — The  object  of  this  scene  is  to  lead  up  to  the  com- 
ing of  Prudence  with  her  friend. 

Olimpe  and  Gaston  arrive  and  the  Action  de- 
velopes  their  character  and  relations;  it  is  made 
known  that  Prudence  is  a  neighbor  across  the  way 
and  who  she  is.  Prudence,  on  being  called  from 
the  window,  accepts  the  invitation  for  supper  if 
she  may  bring  a  friend. 

Scene  6: — The  object  is  largely  technical:  To  prepare  for 
the  supper  by  introducing  Armand  to  Camille  and 
getting  Varville  off. 

However,  facts  are  conveyed  and  relations  de- 
veloped with,  of  course,  that  display  of  character 
which  is  a  constant  element  in  all  Action.  Camille 
learns  of  his  mad  love  for  her  as  told  by  Prudence ; 
details  of  his  history  and  family  are  brought  out, 
and  the  scene  continues  to  the  exit  of  Varville. 
This  is  a  composite  scene,  inasmuch  as  there  are 


102  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.1: 

a  number  of  semi-detached  incidents  and  Dia- 
logues in  it.  While  the  Action  consists  largely  in 
the  curiosity  and  expectation  of  the  audience, 
aroused  by  the  coming  of  this  new  suitor,  the  sub- 
ordinate interest  is  maintained  by  the  presence  on 
the  stage  of  Varville.  Observe  that  he  is  kept  on 
the  stage,  and  dismissed  before  the  beginning  of 
the  supper.  When  the  supper  begins  the  interest 
naturally  centers  on  Armand  and  Camille. 

Scene  7: — The  main  object  of  this  scene  is  to  advance  the 
relations  between  Camille  and  Armand. 

That  this  is  the  main  object  of  the  scene  is  not 
so  apparent  in  the  text  as  it  is  in  the  intelligent 
acting  of  it.  This  scene  is  known  as  the  supper 
scene  and  as  such  is  distinctly  an  episode.  The 
chatter  is  meaningless.  That  is  to  say,  the  talk 
between  the  characters  has  no  direct  bearing  on  the 
Plot.  Substitute  anything  else  of  the  same  enter- 
taining quality  and  it  would  answer  exactly  the 
same  purpose.  What  the  characters  do  is  as  frivo- 
lous as  what  they  say.  The  episode  shows  the  at- 
mosphere in  which  Camille  lives,  her  abandonment 
to  pleasures  of  the  kind,  and  that  Armand  is  a  new 
experience  to  her,  entirely  different  from  those  who 
surround  her.  The  real  significance  in  the  scene 
is  that  which  is  implied  in  it  and  hardly  expressed 
in  words.  It  is  Armand's  increasing  devotion  and 
solicitude  and  Camille's  recognition  of  Armand's 
character.  Out  of  this  the  drama  is  to  grow.  The 
other  characters  are  wholly  unconscious  of  the 
drama  which  is  at  hand.  We  know  that  Camille 
is  indifferent  to  men,  and  little  attention  do  the 
others  pay  to  the  fluttering  of  this  new  moth  about 
the  flame.  Take  out  of  this  scene  the  interest 
which  the  audience  has  in  the  two  principal  char- 
acters and  it  would  be  absolutely  devoid  of  Action 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  IO3 

with  reference  to  the  development  of  the  Story.    It 
is  an  excellent  example  of  episode  and  the  inciden- 
tal  use  of  character  contributing  incidentally  to 
the  progress  of  the  Action.    All  the  chatter  and  all 
the  incidents  of  the  scene  are  subordinate  to  the 
main   impression   indicated.     The  gaiety   and  aban- 
donment of   Camille's  guests   cause   Camille  to  be- 
come  weary   of   it   all    physically   and   spiritually 
and  to  ask  them  to  leave  her.    Thus,  the  very  frivoli- 
ty of  the  scene  serves  a  technical  purpose  in  get- 
ting the  guests  off  the  stage  in  order  to  leave  Ca- 
mille and  Armand  alone. 

Scene  8 : — Armand's  declaration  of  love  for  Camille  and  his 
offer  to  "lead  her  thoughts  to  content  in  a  home 
more  worthy  of  her." 

Scene  9: — The  object  of  this  scene  is  expressed  in  a  single 
sentence  which  composes  it. 

As  short  as  it  is  this  is  properly  a  scene  of  itself 
and  subject  to  division  as  a  scene.  Camille  is 
alone.  No  one  shares  emotion  with  her.  Her  rec- 
ognition that  Armand  loves  her  she  has  not  ex- 
pressed to  him.  It  is  not  a  part  of  the  preceding 
scene.  She  does  not  tell  him^  that,  "There  is  a  new 
found  meaning  in  those  simple  words  that  never 
fell  upon  my  ears  before."  She  does  not  say  this 
to  her  gay  companions  of  the  next  scene.  Could 
there  be  anything  more  detached?  Why,  then 
should  it  not  be  a  scene  by  itself.  There  is  a  ten- 
dency in  recent  productions  of  this  play  to  have  the 
act  close  with  this  scene  as  a  finality,  but  Dumas 
wisely  chose  to  end  the  act  with  another  scene.  In 
a  certain  sense  the  object  of  the  act  is  reached  with 
this  scene,  but  Technique  is  not  so  mechanical  as 
to  preclude  the  following  scene. 

Scene  10 — The  object  is  to  bring  the  act  to  a  close  with  the 
revelry  and  abandonment  of  life  which  make  up 
the  feverish  existence  of  Camille,  from  which  Ar- 


104  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E 

mand  offers  to  rescue  her  and  which  she  is  not  yet 
ready  to  abandon.  While  it  is  episodic  it  is  also 
very  definite.  The  act  has  shown  Armand's  sin- 
cere love  for  her  and  that  she  is  in  a  state  of  won- 
derment about  this  new  meaning  of  love. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  i : — That  Camille  is  in  love  with  Armand.  This 
being  the  fact,  we  at  once  see  the  progress  in  the 
Action.  Of  course,  there  are  other  objects  in 
the  scene,  but  if  we  do  not  establish  a  main  ob- 
ject we  bring  things  into  confusion.  There  is  an 
object,  direct  or  incidental,  immediate  or  remote,  in 
every  line.  Incidentally  we  have  Madam  Pru- 
dence's greed  for  money  in  her  borrowing,  but  to 
make  that  the  object  of  the  scene  would  be  to  re- 
duce it  to  insolvency.  That  is  purely  incidental.  It 
is  incidental  also  that  Camille  has  obtained  the 
money  from  the  Duke  and  that  she  intends  to  go  to 
the  country.  Why  does  she  intend  to  go?  Be- 
cause of  her  love,  and  in  her  pursuance  of  Ar- 
mand's offer  to  withdraw  her  from  her  feverish  ex- 
istence in  Paris.  There  are  objects  of  Preparation 
in  the  scene,  but  the  main  object  of  the  scene  must 
always  be  considered  with  reference  to  the  aud- 
ience, and  the  predominating  effect  of  this  scene  on 
the  audience  will  be  Camille's  love,  and  all  else 
will  be  subordinate.  The  author  has  many  hidden 
objects,  much  that  is  technical.  The  dramatist 
predetermines  his  main  object  and  subordinates 
everything  in  the  scene  to  it. 

Scene  2 : — Purely  connective,  or  transitional,  in  order  to 
give  Madam  Prudence  her  exit.  You  will  observe 
that  in  these  technical  transitional  scenes  there  is 
always  something  that  pays  for  itself  and  interests 
us  so  that  the  technical  scene  does  not  become 
merely  technical.    When  Armand  says,  'T  saw  but 


TH^  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  IO5 

her"  we  perceive  a  certain  advance  in  the  Action 
because  of  this  evidence  of  his  grov^ing  infatuation 
for  Camille.  A  like  impression  has  been  produced 
by  Camille's  saying  to  Armand  that  she  knew^  his 
ring.    Prudence's  lines  are  characteristic. 

Scene  3: — The  main  object  is  to  bring  out  the  jealousy  of 
Armand  with  reference  to  her  plan  which  involves 
the  use  of  the  money  from  the  Duke,  as  also  to 
give  a  reason  for  Armand's  doubt  of  Camille,  which 
is  emphasized  by  his  suspicion  that  she  is  waiting 
for  some  one. 

Scene  4: — Connective; — incidentally  emphasizing  Camille's 
love. 

Scene  5 : — Camille  is  willing  to  let  Varville  pay  her  debts, 
not  yet  fully  appreciating  Armand's  point  of  view, 
although  she  does  love  Armand  and  is  absolutely 
indifferent  to  Varville.  The  scene  takes  a  new 
turn  when  Nanine  brings  Armand's  letter.  It 
could  be  counted  as  the  beginning  of  a  new  scene, 
but  Dumas  does  not  make  the  Division.  The  re- 
sult is  that  the  object  of  the  whole  scene  is  that 
Camille  determines  to  accept  Varville's  invitation 
to  supper. 

Scene  6 : — Connective ; — in  order  to  provide  time. 

Scene  7: — This  scene  is  also  connective,  and  may  be  de- 
scribed as  intensive  in  its  purpose,  for  it  serves  to 
emphasize  the  excitement  under  which  Armand  is 
laboring. 

Scene  8 : — Camille,  in  a  conflict  of  emotion,  sends  Nanine  to 
excuse  her  to  Varville,  and  awaits  Armand  by  rea- 
son of  Prudence's  representations.  If  we  were 
dividing  the  scenes  closer,  Nanine's  return  to  an- 
nounce the  departure  of  Varville  and  then  her  exit 
could  be  counted  as  a  scene,  but  it  may  be  reck- 
oned as  a  part  of  scene  eight. 


I06  ANALYSIS  O:^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

Scene  9: — It  has  for  its  object  the  development  of  the  con- 
flict between  love  and  circumstances,  at  the  end  of 
of  which  they  are  about  to  part,  Camille  telling 
him,  "that  is  your  way,  this  is  mine."  The  en- 
trance of  Nanine  with  the  letter  from  Varville 
might  be  reckoned  as  a  new  scene,  and  as  the  con- 
clusion of  scene  nine.  In  the  latter  event,  the  ob- 
ject of  the  new  scene  would  be  the  complete  re- 
conciliation of  Armand  and  Camille,  Camille  de- 
ciding to  throw  Varville  over.  She  accepts  the 
touch-stone  of  her  worth. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  i : — Introductory.  The  action  of  this  scene  consists 
in  the  development  of  Facts.  In  that  sense  it  may 
be  called  a  passive  scene,  but  these  conditions  and 
facts  have  a  bearing  on  the  Action  of  this  Act. 

Scene  2: — A  scene  of  a  contrast  to  show  the  security  of 
love  in  the  case  of  Nichette  and  Gustave  which 
Camille  longs  for.  Incidentally  we  learn  of  Ca- 
mille's  plans.  The  main  general  object  of  the  first 
two  scenes  is  to  prepare  for  the  entrance  of  Duval, 
the  father  of  Armand.  The  preparation  is  techni- 
cal and  specific,  for  the  purposes  of  contrast  and 
unexpectedness,  in  that  Camille  is  expecting  a  bro- 
ker who  is  to  sell  her  effects  in  order  to  enable  her 
to  hire  and  live  in  a  cottage  alone  with  Armand. 
The  main  sentimental  eiTect  sought  is  the  setting 
forth  of  her  hopes,  and  then  the  dashing  of  them  in 
scene  three. 

Scene  3: — Camille  consents  to  sacrifice  herself  in  order  to 
save  Armand.  This  is  one  of  the  greatest  scenes 
in  the  play,  the  climax  to  it,  and  it  is  compact  with 
the  Action.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  better 
example  of  the  true  meaning  of  Action.  The  con- 
flict is  spiritual  and  internal.  The  Business  of  it 
sinks  into  contempt   and  insignificance   compared 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  IO7 

with  the  play  of  argument,  the  stern  but  unanswer- 
able logic  of  the  father,  the  defiance,  the  appeals, 
the  emotions,  the  humiliation,  the  desperate  de- 
fence of  her  right  to  love,  and  the  complex  emo- 
tions of  Camille.  Observe  that  there  is  hardly  a 
line  of  Business  indicated  in  the  long  scene. 

Scene  4: — Camille  writes  the  letter  of  reunuciation  to  Ar- 
mand. 

Scene  5 : — Camille's  effort  to  conceal  her  purpose  from  Ar- 
mand,  and  to  part  from  him  without  revealing  her 
resolution. 

Scene  6 : — In  the  original,  Dumas  makes  one  scene  of  all  be- 
tween this  period  and  the  close  of  the  act.  The  ob- 
ject of  the  scene  is  to  effect  Camille^s  sacrifice  by 
having  Armand  believe  that  he  has  been  deserted 
for  Varville. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  i : — That  Armand  intends  to  call  Varville  to  account. 
This  is  one  month  later  than  the  close  of  the  last 
act.  Necessarily  what  has  happened  in  the  mean- 
time and  the  new  conditions  have  to  be  set  forth. 
As  they  are  developed,  we  recognize  Action  in 
them  of  changed  relations,  and  our  feelings  are  at 
the  bottom  of  the  new  turns  in  the  Story.  Observe 
that  nothing  is  told  for  the  mere  information  of  the 
audience,  and  that  the  medium  of  communicating 
the  facts  is  Prudence.  Her  gossip  is  entirely  na- 
tural, and  the  subjective  effect  on  Armand  is  ap- 
parent. 

Scene  2 : — The  game  of  cards  in  which  Armand  seeks  a  dif- 
ficulty with  Varville. 

This  is  a  composite  scene ;  the  first  part  of  it 
shows  Camille's  apprehension  and  unhappiness, 
and  the  second,  Armand's  spirit  and  cumulative 
efforts  directed  toward  revenge. 

Scene  3 : — Camille  sends  Madam  Prudence  to  find  Armand. 


/ 

I08  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

Scene  4: — Armand's  bitter  denunciation  of  her.  Camille  in 
pursuance  of  her  self-sacrifice  falteringly  admits 
she  loves  Varville. 

Scene  5 : — Armand  expresses  his  contemppt  of  Camille  by- 
throwing  a  shower  of  notes  and  gold  upon  her, 
securing  his  opportunity  for  revenge  on  Varville, 
who  interposes  and  strikes  him,  an  act  which 
means  a  duel. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  i : — Camille's  illness  and  changed  condition. 

Here  again  we  encounter  what  we  may  describe 
as  a  passive  scene  in  that  the  Plot  Action  is  almost 
suspended.  Compared  with  the  other  acts  of  the 
play,  this  Act  has  few  turns  in  the  larger  Action, 
but  abounds  in  minor  Action.  The  Plot  Action, 
distant  as  it  is,  in  these  passive  scenes  is  supplied 
by  the  hope  of  the  audience  that  Camille  will  not 
die,  and  that  Armand  may  yet  return  to  her. 
The  fact  that  the  room  is  poorly  furnished  indi- 
cates at  once  that  she  is  no  longer  under  the  pro- 
tection of  Varville. 

Scene  2: — Another  passive  scene,  full  of  minor  Action, 
showing  the  attention  of  Nanine. 

Scene  3: — Between  Gaston  and  Camille.  This  is  a  contin- 
uation of  the  conditions  of  the  present  moment 
with  Camille,  and  there  is  a  constant  play  of  senti- 
ment and  reminiscence. 

Scene  4 : — The  introduction  of  the  presents,  and  the  remin- 
der that  it  is  the  wedding  day  of  Nichette. 

Scene  5 : — A  connective  scene  introducing  Prudence. 

Scene  6: — That  Prudence  borrows  money  is  purely  inci- 
dental to  the  mlain  object  of  the  scene,  which  is 
that  Camille  parts  company  gladly  with  her  own 
companions. 

Scene  7: — The  letter  from  Armand's  father,  and  Nanine's 
return   and  announcing  the    coming  of  Armand. 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  ICX) 

Here  for  the  first  time  in  this  version  of  the  play, 
we  reach  a  new^  turn  in  the  larger  Action. 

Scene  8 : — The  reconciliation  v^ith  Armand. 

Scene  9: — The  death  of  Camille.  "All  pain  is  gone,  now 
everything  appears  to  change.  Oh !  How  Beauti- 
ful !    Do  not  wake  me — I  am  so  sleepy." 

The  Division  into  Scenes  of  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep.*' 

ACT  I. 

Scene  i : — To  show  that  Mildmay  is  a  nonenity  in  his 
own  household. 

The  relations  of  the  characters  are  all  set  forth 
with  reference  to  this  state  of  affairs,  and  many 
facts  are  introduced.  But  it  will  be  observed  that 
everything  is  subordinate  to  the  main  object  of  the 
scene.  In  this  scene  of  nearly  three  pages,  not  a 
single  other  element  in  the  Action  of  the  play  is 
introduced.  Everything  shows  why  Mildmay  is 
regarded  as  a  m;an  without  a  will  of  his  own,  stu- 
pid, as  one  "whom  you  can  do  what  you  like  with 
if  you  only  take  the  trouble/*  as  Mrs.  Sternhold 
says.  All  his  habits  go  to  show  his  domestic  na- 
ture, his  earthing  up  the  celery,  his  submissive- 
ness,  his  being  nagged  at  by  all  of  them,  &c. 
Everything  is  incidental  to  the  main  idea.  Even 
his  statement  that  he  is  going  to  Manchester  that 
night  is  not  put  in  directUy  as  a  matter  that  af- 
fects the  Plot,  but  is  really  an  indication,  as  the 
audience  takes  it,  of  how  indifferent  he  has  become 
to  home  life  under  this  state  of  affairs,  or  that  he 
can  take  none  of  them  into  his  confidence.  Still, 
all  the  facts  in  the  scene  are  important,  but  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  a  scene  in  which  the  inci- 
dents and  details  are  so  conclusive  as  to  the  main 
desired  impression  of  the  scene. 

Scene  2: — Mrs.  Mildmay's  sentimentality,  and  her  liking 
for  Hawksley  whom  she  compares  with  Mildmay. 


no  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

We  have  seen  from  one  remark  by  Mrs.  Mild- 
may  that  she  is  sentimental,  and  this  scene  ac- 
centuates it  by  the  suggestion  in  a  line  in  which 
she  compares  Mildmay  to  Hawksley,  of  whom  we 
now  hear  for  the  first  time. 

Scene  3: — To  convey  Potter's  suspicion  to  Mrs.  Sternhold 
that  the  relations  between  Mrs.  Mildmay  and 
Hawksley  are  too  intimate. 

It  would  not  do  to  say  that  the  main  object  of 
this  scene  was  the  discussion  between  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold  and  Potter  concerning  the  investment  in 
Hawksley's  shares.  Observe  that  that  discussion 
leads  up  to  Potter's  revelation  of  his  suspicion, 
which  is  the  main  object  of  this  scene.  The  talk 
about  the  shares  is  one  object  of  the  scene,  but 
there  could  be  no  better  illustration  of  a  main  ob- 
ject and  a  subordinate  object  than  can  be  found  in 
the  management  of  the  two. 

Scene  4: — Mrs.  Sternhold  determines  to  satisfy  herself  in 
regard  to  Potter's  suspicions. 

Observe  that  the  audience  has  no  inkling  of  Mrs. 
Sternhold's  relations  with  Hawksley,  but  what  she 
does  in  this  scene  has  direct  reference  to  what  Pot- 
ter has  told  her,  and  grows  directly  out  of  it.  She 
retires  behind  the  screen  to  take  observations. 

Scene  5: — Captain  Hawksley  presses  his  suit  with  Mrs. 
Mildmay,  explaining  to  her  his  design  and  means 
of  entering  the  house  to  her  after  the  others  have 
retired. 

Scene  6 : — Mrs.  Sternhold  expresses  her  indignation  and  in- 
tention to  move  against  Hawksley.  For  the  first 
time  we  learn  that  Hawksley  has  trifled  with  her 
too. 

Scene  7: — Mildmay  has  Jessup  bring  in  the  ladder  so  that 
he  can  paint  the  trellis. 

Scene  8: — Potter's  caution  with  Hawksley  about  buying 
additional  shares. 


THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  III 

Scene  9: — Hawksley  delivers  the  letter  from  Manchester  to 
Mildmay. 

Scene  10: — Mrs.  Sternhold  will  continue  to  v^atch  Hawks- 
ley  and  Mrs.  Mildmay  for  herself  and  for  Mildmay, 
who  she  thinks  is  an  unsuspecting  fool. 

Scene  11: — Mildmay  leaves  the  impression  that  he  is  still 
going  to  Manchester. 

Scene  12: — Mildmay  seems  to  commend  to  Potter  further 
investment  with  Hawksley. 

Scene  13 : — The  letter  renders  Mildmay's  trip  to  Manchester 
unnecessary. 

Scene  14: — Mrs.  Sternhold  tells  Mrs.  Mildmay  what  she 
has  overheard,  and  sends  her  to  her  room  so  as  to 
meet  Hawksley  in  her  place. 

Scene  15: — A  scene  of  convenience  to  get  Mrs.  Sternhold 
off.    She  goes  out  to  see  that  all  is  quiet  up  stairs. 

Scene  16: — Mildmay  has  seen  Gimlet  the  detective,  and 
now  returns  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Sternhold  about  the 
investment.  He  goes  out  to  deposit  his  carpet  bag 
in  his  room. 

Scene  17: — Mildmay  overhears  the  interview  between  Mrs. 
Sternhold  and  Hawksley  in  which  Hawksley 
threatens  her  with  the  letters  from  her  which  he 
holds,  and  will  proceed  with  his  schemes  against 
Mildmay's  money  and  his  wife. 

Scene  18: — Mrs.  Sternhold  assures  Mrs.  Mildmay  that  she 
is  safe  for  the  night,  and  they  retire. 

Scene  19: — Mildmay  is  now  in  possession  of  the  true  state 
of  affairs,  and  has  not  lost  confidence  in  his  wife. 

Scene  20: — Mildmay  leaves  his  wife  in  alarm  lest  he  should 
meet  Hawksley  as  he  makes  his  round  of  the  gar- 
den and  locks  all  the  doors;  but  the  main  object 
is  to  show  that  Mildmay  has  determiined  to  use 
other  means  to  dispose  of  Hawksley  than  a  shot 
gun. 


OP  THE 

(    UNIVERSITY 
v._- ^^ 


112  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE: 

ACT  II. 
Set  Scene  i. 

Scene  i : — Potter  tells  Mrs.  Sternhold,  to  her  consternation, 
that  Mildmay  will  invest  as  she  wishes,  and  she 
sends  for  Mildmay. 

Scene  2: — Mrs.  Sternhold  has  hopes  of  getting  Mildmay 
to  act  for  her  as  a  last  resort  in  getting  back  her 
letters. 

Scene  3: — Mrs.  Sternhold  approaches  him  on  the  subject, 
but  Mildmay,  understanding  her  perfectly,  puts 
her  off  by  reminding  her  that  he  is  not  a  man  of 
spirit,  as  she  herself  has  said. 

Scene  4: — Potter  advises  Mildmay  to  be  careful  in  specu- 
lating with  Hawksley.  He  thinks  Mildmay  is 
stupid. 

Scene  5: — Closes  the  scene  with  Potter's  belief  that  Mild- 
may is  inexperienced,  and  that  he  himself  is  a  very 
clever  fellow. 

Set  Scene  2. 

Scene  i : — Hawksley  waits  for  Mildmay,  and  shows  in  his 
reflections  that  he  is  uneasy  about  his  affairs,  but 
is  confident  in  his  power  to  dupe  the  others. 

Scene  2: — Dunbilk  and  Hawksley.  The  instability  of  the 
Company  made  plain  and  Mildmay's  confidence  in 
his  ability  to  manage  the  affair. 

Scene  3 : — Mildmay  outwits  Hawksley,  gets  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold's  letters,  and  makes  him  take  back  the  shares 
by  proving  to  Hawksley  his  knowledge  of  his  past 
forgeries,  by  producing  the  forged  bill. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  i : — Preparation  for  sending  off  the  letters  postpon- 
ing the  dinner.  The  ignorance  of  Potter  and  the 
perplexity  of  Mrs.  Sternhold. 

Scene  2: — Potter  and  Mrs.  Sternhold  still  think  Mildmay 
stupid. 


THie  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  II3 

Scene  3: — Mrs.  Sternhold  is  astonished  by  Mildmay's  re- 
turn of  her  compromising  letters.  The  notes  re- 
calling the  dinner  torn  up. 

Scene  4 : — Potter  is  told  that  the  dinner  is  to  be  given. 

Scene  5 : — Mildmay  forces  an  understanding  on  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold,  relegating  her  to  a  subordinate  place  in  the 
household. 

Scene  6 :— rMildmay  explains  to  his  wife  that  he  understands 
the  danger  she  w^as  in,  and  she  acknowledges  with 
love  his  authority  and  that  he  has  rescued  her. 

Scene  7: — Potter  in  his  stupidity  awaits  Dunbilk,  "an  un- 
common pleasant  fellow,"  and  the  other  guests. 

Scene  8: — The  introduction  of  the  guests,  preparatory  to 
the  coming  of  Hawksley. 

Scene  9: — Mildmay  introduces  Gimlet,  the  detective,  under 
the  name  of  Maxwell. 

Scene  10 : — Hawksley's  arrival,  and  his  impudent  attempt  to 
horsewhip  Mildmay. 

Scene  11 : — Mildmay  forces  Hawksley  to  refuse  a  duel  with 
one  of  the  pistols  unloaded. 

Scene  12: — Gimlet  arrests  Hawksley  for  forgery,  on  evi- 
dence just  completed. 

Scene  13 : — Mildmay  is  the  master  of  the  house. 

THE  DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  OF  "A  NEW  WAY 
TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS." 
Set  Scene  i. 
Scene  i : — That  Wellborn  is  an  outcast  and  friendless. 

Everything  under  that  main  idea  is  detail.  We 
learn  why  he  is  friendless,  and  how  friendless  he 
is,  his  relations  with  Tapwell  and  Froth,  and  their 
obligations  to  him.  His  profligacy,  and  his  ruin 
by  Sir  Giles  Overreach.  That  he  gives  Tapwell 
forty  pounds  to  buy  the  cottage,  and  all  other  de- 
tails are  subordinate,  and  derived  from  and  explan- 
atory of  the  main  object. 
Scene  2 : — That  Wellborn  has  a  friend  in  Allworth. 
8 


114  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPIvE 

Scene  3 : — That  Wellborn  refuses  aid  from  Allworth,  and 
will  retrieve  his  fortunes  in  his  own  way. 

These  are  important  details,  particularly  as  to 
Allworth's  love  for  Margaret,  but  all  are  incidental 
to  the  main  object  described. 
Set  Scene  2. 

Scene  i : — Shows  the  opulence  of  Lady  Allworth,  and  the 
character  of  the  servants. 

This  is  what  may  be  called  a  conditional  scene. 
It  is  introductory,  and  develops  the  conditions  of 
the  life  of  Lady  Allworth  in  whom  we  take  an  in- 
terest, provided  for  by  previous  dialogue.  An  im- 
portant detail  is  the  reference  to  Justice  Greedy, 
but  it  will  be  observed  that  it  is  subordinate  to  the 
main  object  of  the  scene. 

Scene  2: — The  cordial  reception  of  Allworth. 

Scene  3 : — The  characteristic  introduction  of  Lady  All- 
worth  and  her  maids. 

Scene  4: — Lady  Allworth's  friendly  reception  of  Allworth, 
and  her  warning  him  against  association  with 
Wellborn. 

So  far,  the  scenes  have  been  largely  conditional 
and  expository  action,  but  this  warning  against 
Wellborn  strikes  a  distinct  note  in  the  Action. 

Scene  5 : — The  introduction  of  Greedy  and  Sir  Giles. 

This  is  also  a  conditional  scene  and  preparatory 
for  the  minor  comedy  involved  in  the  character  of 
Greedy. 

Scene  6: — Wellborn  spurned  by  Sir  Giles. 

Scene  7: — Wellborn's  forlorn  condition  accented  by  the 
speech  addressed  to  him  by  the  servants. 

Scene  8: — Wellborn's  unexpected  rebuff  by  Allworth. 

Scene  9 : — Another  conditional  accent  of  the  apparent  help- 
lessness of  Wellborn's  visit  in  the  attack  of  Abigail 
and  Tabitha. 

Scene  10: — The  culmination  of  the  impudence  of  the  serv- 
ants. 


THE  DIVISION    INTO   SCENES  1 15 

Scene  ii: — Wellborn  melts  and  prevails  over  Lady  All- 
worth,  who  falls  into  his  plan  and  agrees  to  fur- 
nish him  with  the  means  to  beget  the  opinion  of 
Sir  Giles  that  he  is  in  favor  with  her. 

Scene  12: — The  servants,  having  witnessed  the  reconcilia- 
tion, change  their  demeanor. 

Scene  13 : — A  scene  of  gradation  to  close  the  act. 

ACT  II. 
Set  Scene  i. 

Scene  i : — An  exposition  of  the  character  and  methods  of 
Sir  Giles,  and  specifically  his  plan  to  marry  his 
daughter  Margaret  to  Lord  Lovell. 

Incidental  to  the  main  object  of  the  scene  we  get 
the  relations  of  Justice  Greedy  to  his  methods.  It 
is  clear  that  Sir  Giles'  plan  to  have  Marrall  com- 
plete the  ruin  of  Wellborn  by  persuading  him  to 
steal  is  entirely  subordinate  to  the  main  object  of 
the  scene  as  stated,  for  nothing  comes  of  that  par- 
ticular thing. 

Scene  2 : — Connective.    The  entrance  of  Wellborn. 

Scene  3: — A  turn  in  the  Action.    Wellborn  inviting  Mar- 
rall to  dine  with  him  at  Lady  Allworth's. 
Set  Scene  2. 

Scene  i : — Allworth  leaves  Lady  AUworth's  house  to  return 
with  Lord  Lovell,  who  is  to  visit  her. 

Scene  2: — Connective.    Wellborn  knocks  at  the  door. 

Scene  3: — Wellborn's  cordial  reception. 

Scene  4 : — A  continuation  of  the  reception  of  Aml^le. 

Scene  5 : — The  same  with  Furnace,  and  the  amazement  of 
Marrall  during  these  incidents,  which  may  be  reck- 
oned as  a  single  scene. 

Scene  6 : — Wellborn's  cordial  greeting  by  Tabitha  and  Abi- 
gail. 

These  last  four  scenes  practically  constitute  a 
single  scene. 


Il6  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

Scene  7: — Wellborn's  reception  by  Lady  Allworth. 

Marrall's  amazement  is  completed  by  his  being 
invited  to  the  surprising  honor  of  a  seat  at  her 
table,  all  because  of  her  graciousness  to  Wellborn. 

Scene  8: — A  conditional  scene  in  which  the  servants  ex- 
press their  v^^onder  at  the  turn  affairs  have  taken 
and  discuss  Sir  Giles  Overreach. 

Scene  9: — Amble,  Furnace  and  the  servants  report  the  do- 
ings at  the  table. 

It  has  special  reference  to  the  effect  of  all  this 
condescension  of  Lady  Allworth  on  Marrall. 

Scene  10: — Lady  A's  instruction  to  Marrall  to  reverence 
Wellborn  completes  the  impression. 

Scene  11: — A  scene  of  gradation  in  which  Lady  Allworth 
forgives  her  servants. 

Set  Scene  3. 

Scene  i : — Wellborn  completes  his  deception  and  mastery 
of  Marrall. 

Scene  2: — Marrall,  with  a  liking  for  Wellborn's  sweet  na- 
ture, is  rascally  enough  to  think  him  "fit^again  to 
be  cheated"  when  he  is  "possessed  of  the  land  and 
lady." 

Scene  3 : — Sir  Giles  discredits  Marrall's  account  of  the  favor 
bestowed  on  Wellborn  and  strikes  him.  A  blow 
which  Marrall  receives  with  humbleness,  but  with 
a  hidden  spirit  of  revenge. 

ACT  in. 

Set  Scene  i. 
Scene  i : — Discloses  that  Lord  Lovell  is  to  appear  as  suitor 
for  Margaret. 

Sir  Giles  does  not  permit  Allworth  to  enter  the 
house,  and  this  is  a  part  of  the  scheme  to  further 
the  love  affair  between  Allworth  and  Margaret. 
Set  Scene  2. 
Scene  i : — Sir  Giles'  preparation  for  an  impressive  reception 
of  Lovell. 


THE   DIVISION   INTO  SCKNES  II 7 

We  have  seen  at  the  close  of  Act  II  that  he  ex- 
pects him|.  The  presence  of  Greedy  in  this  scene 
is  incidental  and  in  preparation  for  the  comedy,  for 
Sir  Giles  gives  over  to  Greedy  the  control  of  the 
kitchen. 

Scene  2: — Connective  and  preparatory. 

He  proposes  to  lecture  his  daughter  as  to  her 
bearing  tov^ard  Lovell.  It  will  be  observed  in  this 
^ct  there  are  more  exits  and  entrances  sometimes 
of  "important''  persons  than  can  be  assigned  to 
distinct  scenes.  It  is  obvious  that  Massinger 
v^orked  with  considerable  freedom ;  at  the  same 
time  the  scenes  followed  their  natural  dramatic 
order.  It  is  what  a  scene  accomplishes  that  makes 
a  scene,  irrespective  of  those  exits  and  entrances 
which  do  not  affect  the  object  of  the  scene,  conse- 
quently, there  is  no  discrepency  in  the  loose  man- 
^  agement  of  the  exits  and  entrances. 

Scene  3 : — Sir  Giles  unfolds  his  aim  to  Margaret,  and  his 
ambition  for  her.  Observe  that  the  scene  is  gen- 
eral. 

Scene  4: — The  comedy  relief  of  Greedy's  complaints. 

Scene  5 : — Sir  Giles  is  specific  and  speaks  to  Margaret  of 
Lord  Lovell. 

Scene  6: — The  comedy  of  Greedy. 

Massinger  was  a  practical  dramiatist,  and  in 
making  all  possible  use  of  this  comedy  episode, 
he  was  not  making  a  mere  concession  to  the  popu- 
lar taste  for  amusement.  Back  of  it  all  is  the  Ac- 
tion implied  in  the  character  of  Greedy,  who  is 
utterly  abandoned  to  his  appetite  and  is  Sir  Giles's 
tool  in  every  villainy  requiring  his  assistance. 
Without  this  comedy,  the  play  would  be  baldly 
villainous. 

Scene  7: — The  climax  of  Sir  Giles's  expression  of  his  na- 
ture, and  explanation  of  his  plans  with  Margaret: 
,         "therefore,  when  he  kisses  you,  kiss  close." 


Il8  ANAI.YSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI,!: 

Scene  8: — Connective  and  introductory  to  the  entrance  of 
Lord  Lovell. 

Scene  9 : — The  greeting  of  Lovell. 

Scene  10: — Margaret's  reluctance,  and  Sir  Giles's  caution. 

Scene  11: — Lovell  plays  his  part.  Sir  Giles  leaves  them 
to  themselves. 

Scene  12: — Paves  the  v^ay  to  Margaret's  confidence  with 
Lovell,  in  an  aside  in  which  she  reveals  her  secret, 
their  whispering  to  each  other  deceiving  Sir  Giles. 

Scene  13 : — The  comedy  of  Greedy. 

Scene  14: — Shows  that  Margaret  and  Lovell  had  come  to 
an  agreement. 

Scene  15: — Sir  Giles's  having  been  taken  in  by  appear- 
ances enables  Lord  Lovell  to  introduce  Allworth 
favorably  to  Sir  Giles,  who  says  to  Allworth,  "Now 
my  house  is  ever  open  to  you." 

Scene  16 : — Lady  Allworth  forces  Sir  Giles  to  receive  Well- 
born. 

Scene  17: — Connective.  Greedy's  amazement  over  Well- 
born's  relations  with  Lady  Allworth. 

Scene  18 : — The  comedy  episode  of  Greedy. 

Scene  19: — Sir  Giles  is  comjpletely  taken  in  by  Lady  All- 
worth's  attention  to  Wellborn. 

Scene  20: — Connective.  Sir  Giles  proposes  to  make  friends 
with  Wellborn,  believing  that  he  can  secure  for 
himself  by  trickery  the  fortune  which  Wellborn 
will  marry.    He  sends  for  Wellborn. 

Scene  21 : — Connective ;  confirming  Sir  Giles's  belief  as  to 
Lady  Allworth's  designs  and  Wellborn's  good 
fortune. 

Scene  22: — Lady  Allworth  confirms  Sir  Giles'  belief  as  to 
her  relations  with  Wellborn. 

Scene  23 : — The  scheme  works,  and  Sir  Giles  provides  Well- 
born with  clothing  and  money. 


THK   DIVISION  INTO  SCENES  II 9 

ACT  IV. 

Set  Scene  i. 

Scene  i : — Lovell  gives  Allworth  a  letter  which  is  to  play  a 

decisive  part. 
Scene  2: — Sir  Giles  sends  money  to  discharge  the  debt  of 

his  nephew. 
Scene  3: — Sir  Giles  sends  Allworth  money  to  procure  the 

license  for  marriage  and  his  ring  to  take  him  into 

the  presence  of  Margaret. 
Scene  4 : — Sir  Giles  reveals  his  character  to  Lord  Lovell. 

The  scene  is  conditional,  but  progressive,  and 

it  confirms  the  purpose  and  resolutions  of  Lovell 

in  the  deception  of  the  scheming  old  man. 
Scene  5 : — Connective,  expressing  Lord  LovelFs  abhorrence 

of  Sir  Giles. 
Scene  6 : — Brings  Lord  Lovell  and  Lady  Allworth  together, 

both  interested  to  serve  the  affair  of  Margaret. 
Set  Scene  2. 
Scene   i : — Tapwell  and   Froth  apprehensive  of  Wellborn, 

knowing  that  he  has  found  out  "such  a  new  way  to 

pay  old  debts." 
Scene  3 : — They  meet  their  just  desserts  from  Wellborn  at 

the  hands  of  Greedy,  who  withdraws  their  license. 
Scene  3 : — Wellborn  disposes  of  his  other  creditors. 

This  scene  is  episodic,  but  properly  a  part  of 

the  Action. 
Scene  4: — Marrall's  weighty  secret.    He  suggests  to  Well- 
born to  demand  that  Sir  Giles  produce  the  deed 

held  over  him. 

Set  Scene  3. 
Scene  i : — Margaret  will  brave  the  wrath  of  her  father  in 

mlarrying  Allworth. 
Scene  2 : — Sir  Giles  is  duped  by  Lovell's  letter  asking  that 

Margaret  be  secretly  married  to  him. 
Scene  3 : — Sir  Giles  feels  cocksure,  and  that  it  only  remains 

for  him  to  ruin  Wellborn  and  possess  the  widow's 

lands. 


120  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

ACT    V. 

Scene  i : — Lady  Allworth  formally  accepts  Lovell,  although 

they  remain  in   doubt   as   to  the   issue    of    their 

scheme  for  Margaret's  marriage. 
Scene  2 : — Wellborn  announces  Sir  Giles'  uneasiness  at  the 

disappearance  of  his  daughter. 
Scene  3 : — Sir  Giles,  uneasy  about  the  deed,  berates  Marrall. 
Scene  4: — Sir  Giles  believes  that   Lord   Lovell    and    his 

daughter  are  married  and  now  demands  security 

from  Wellborn. 
Scene  5 : — The  discovery  of  the  obliterated  deed. 
Scene  6: — The  parson  confirms  the  marriage,  which   Sir 

Giles  thinks  for  the  moment  is  that  of  Margaret 

and  Lord  Lovell. 
Scene  7 : — Sir  Giles  is  completely  discomfited  by  learning  of 

Margaret's  marriage  to  Allworth,  and  the  loss  of 

his  deed. 
Scene  8 : — The  conclusion  of  the  Action. 


CHAPTER  XL 


THE  SCENARIO. 

There  are  certain  external  symptoms  of  a  drama  that  may 
be  seen  at  a  glance  and  which  are  known  to  everybody. 
But  mere  information  of  this  kind  is  very  superficial  and 
does  not  necessarily  iniply  any  definite  or  real  knowledge 
of  the  art  of  playwriting  at  all.  One  may  know  that  a  play 
occupying  an  entire  evening  in  performance  is  divided  into 
Acts  and  into  Scenes  of  locality,  but  he  might  be  absolutely 
ignorant  of  the  principles  governing  these  divisions.  The 
principle  of  Scenery  will  be  discussed  under  its  own  head. 
The  set  scenes  are  assigned  to  the  Acts  very  early  in  the 
formative  process,  selected  with  reference  to  the  Action 
as  the  proper  places  for  the  happenings  and  also  with  a  view 
to  giving  external  characteristics.  This  choice  is  largely 
dictated  by  the  Material,  but  a  process  of  technical  reason- 
ing is  usually  involved  before  they  are  fit.  In  "Ingomar" 
they  are: 

Act.   First. 

A  Market  Place  in  Massilia. 

Act  Second. 

A  Wood  in  Cevennes ;  a  camp  of  the  AUemanni. 
Act  Third. 

As  before. 

Act  Fourth. 

A  path  on  the  rocky  eminence  near  Massilia.      » 
Act  Fifth. 

Same  as  act  first. 

The  time  of  the  Action  has  of  course  been  decided  upon, 
so  that  we  now  have  time  and  place.  These  two  things 
have  now  become  matters  of  course  in  the  working  out  of 
our  play.  They  become  a  part  of  the  Scenario.  The  Theme 
and  the  Proposition  may  be  set  down,  and  at  the  beginning 
of  each  act  the  object  of  the  Act  may  be  indicated,  but  the 


122  ANALYSIS  O]?  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

gist  of  a  full  Scenario,  at  this  mechanical  point,  is  con- 
tained in  the  Division  into  Scenes.  We  are  speaking  now 
of  practical  work.  This  Division  into  Scenes  or  Scenario 
should  be  committed  to  paper.  It  cannot  be  written  down 
of?  hand.  It  might  require  many  weeks  and  months  of 
thought  before  you  could  definitely  fix  each  scene  and  its 
Sequence  and  give  to  every  detail  of  the  Action  that  form 
which  depends  more  or  less  upon  all  the  principles,  and, 
sometimes,  absolutely  and  more  particularly,  on  one  princi- 
ple. It  is  not  necessary  to  take  up  Scenario  just  now  for 
minute  discussion.  We  simply  wish  to  call  your  attention 
to  the  methods  of  playwriting  whereby  the  construction  and 
mechanical  part  of  a  play  is  substantially  reached  and  ef- 
fected with  the  completion  of  the  Division  into  Scenes, 
which  practically  constitutes  Scenario.  The  term  Scenario 
is  often  loosely  used;  but  the  Scenario  of  a  Division  into 
Scenes  is  the  scientific  working  Scenario  for  the  intelligent 
dramatist.  He  might  elaborate  that  Scenario.  He  might 
give  that  Scenario  twice  as  many  pages  as  the  play  itself 
will  occupy.  He  might  put  into  it  many  tentative  ideas; 
it  would  still  be  a  scenario.  It  would  not  be  the  kind  of 
Scenario  submitted  to  a  manager.  The  manager  would 
want  only  a  succinct  statement  of  the  Action  or  Story.  In 
this  case  something  more  should  be  given  than  the  mere 
Plot,  while  all  the  effective  Scenes  should  be  indicated  with 
sufficient  fullness.  At  present  let  your  only  concern  be  the 
form  of  a  working  Scenario. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE  ACTION  OF  A  PLAY- 

While  we  have,  so  far,  gone  a  little  beneath  the  suface, 
we  have  mainly  considered  the  external  formation  of  a 
drama.  We  have  seen  the  framework_^ndjthe_reaspns  and 
necessities  for  the  structure  bxjneans  .of_a^_Proposition^  a 
Plot  ajid  a  Division  into  Acts  and  Scenes,  and  gained  an 
idea  of  a  Scenario  (of  the  simplest  sort).  Incidentally  you 
must  have  caught  the  idea  o£  Unity — ^which  is  to  be  treated 
separately — and  you  have  been  really  led  up  to  Action, 
which  is  involved  in  all  that  has  gone  before,  but  which 
we  were  not.xjeady  to  discuss,  for  we  are  getting  at  one 
thing  at  a  time.  You  will  understand  it  all  better  after 
mastering  the  present  principle.  Action  does  not  primarily 
mean  the  physical  movements  of  the  actors  in  a  play. 
That  is  a  common  mistake  made  by  actors  when  they  at- 
tempt to  write  a  play,  for  they  consider  "Business"  Action 
and  the  only  Action  that  counts.  These  visible  expressions 
of  hopes,  fears,  emotions  and  relations  often  coincide  with 
the  Action,  but  may  constitute  a  sort  of  Action  which  rnay 
be  false,  misleading  or  unnecessary.  The  real  Action  is 
confined  to  the  rightful  effects  produced  on  the  audience. 
In  this  way,  what  an  actor  may  do  causes  the  mind  of  the 
audience  to  act,  and  often  to  think  of  something  in"  the  de- 
velopment of  things  of  which  the  character  (actor)  himself 
may  be  entirely  unconscious.  When  a  hidden  assassin 
steps  from  behind  a  rock  and  raises  his  knife  to  plunge  into 
the  back  of  the  "hero"  of  the  play,  let  us  say,  the  audience 
knows  something  that  the  intended  victim  does  not  know, 
and  hope  is  aroused  that  the  intended  victim  may  escape. 
Will  he  turn  around  in  time  and  see  the  man?  Is  he 
armed?  Or  we  may  know  that  he  is  armed  and  the  assas- 
^'sin  thinks  he  is  not  armed,  we,  again,  knowing  something 
\that  the  man  does  not  know.    In  its  final  analysis,  then,  the 


124  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

Action  depends  upon  the  thoughts  and  emotions  of  the 
audience.  It  is  very  much  like  the  old  discussion  whether, 
if  a  tree,  the  giant  of  the  forest,  fell,  without  a  human,  or 
any,  ear,  to  hear  it,  would  there  be  any  sound  ?  The  waves 
of  the  air  would  have  to  strike  upon  some  tympanum. 
Action,  like  the  Plot,  is  the  development  of  the  Story,  the 
statement  or  problem.  You  begin  to  get  the  Action  in  the 
Proposition  and  get  closer  to  it  as  you  proceed  and  make 
your  Division  into  Acts  and  then  into  Scenes  from  the  Plot 
Your  play  begins  to  move;  it  crawls,  then  gets  on  its  feet,  . 
and  in  production  we  see  it  in  its  fullness.  Its  characteristic  ■/ 
is  doubt  as  to  the  outcome  of  the  matter  in  hand.  Whether 
in  Episode  or  in  close  connection  with  the  Plot  there  must 
be  Action  always.  It  is  the  overcoming  of  some  obstacle 
and,  of  course^  our  doubt.  Our  doubt  is  the  final  test.  It  is 
something  in  solution  all  the  time.  Again,  it  is  Action  if 
we-see  that  something  is  to  come  of  it.  We  will  not  discuss 
it  to  its  fullest  extent  at  this  time,  but  we  must  examine  all 
the  plays  in  hand  and  take  note  of  what  Action  is.  A  play 
without  Action  is  impossible.  It  must  always  exist  at  the 
present  moment.  We  have  seen  that  the  Action  must  be 
about  some  one  definite  thing,  and  we  were  preparing  for 
Action  when  we  reduced  the  play  to  one  Proposition  or 
Theme  about  which  it  was  to  be.  The  main  Action  is  about 
that  Proposition — the  battle  around  the  body  of  Patroclus. 
And  now  we  see  the  importance  of  the  Division  into  Acts 
and  Scenes,  for  in  each  case  the  act  has  its  main  Action,  that 
is,  it  must  be  about  something  that  is  of  importance  to  the 
general  Action  in  conveying  it  forward.  A  quarrel  between 
two  lovers.Js  an  Action,  for  it  is  about  something,  how- 
ever trivial  it  may  be  in  its  nature.  Every  discussion 
between  people  who  misunderstand  each  other  is  Action. 
There  is  usually  some  misconstruction — some  misunder-' 
standing — some  impediment — which  may  be  within,  just' 
as  it  may  be  the  bashfulness  of  a  young  man  in  trying  to 
propose  to  his  sweetheart,,  when  the  audience  knows  that 
she  is  eager  to  hear  the  word.    Apply  now  to  all  plays  that 


THE   ACTION   OF   A   PLAY  1 25 

you  may  study  the  test  throughout  and  see  what  Action 
is;  see  if  it  is  not  true,  that  the  audience  must  see  that 
something  is  to  come  of  what  is  done  before  them ;  if  there 
is  not  doubt  involved  as  to  the  issue,  if  the  audience  does 
not  know  something  that  some  of  the  people  engaged  do 
not  know.  When  the  characters  all  know  the  same  thing, 
when  nothing  remains  to  be  done,  and  there  is  no  longer 
any  doubt  as  to  the  issue  of  the  play,  it  is  at  ayn_end;  and 
it  is  a  beautiful  part  of  the  Art  to  keep  the  Action  alive — 
to  keep  the  ball  in  the  air — to  the  last.  The  Action  seems 
to  come  to  an  end  in  "Ingomar"  at  one  point.  Where? 
The  Plot  of  a  play,  as  appears  in  those  we  have  made  out, 
is  a  statement  of  the  main  Action  in  all  its  material  parts; 
the  Scenario,  as  we  have  suggested,  it  is  the  simplest  form 
of  a  Scenario,  which  could  be  so  amplified  as  to  give  such  a 
detailed  account  of  the  Action  that  it  would  substantially 
include  almost  every  movement  by  way  of  description ;  but 
the  full  Action  is  only  complete  with  the  completion  of  the 
play,  for  it  must  be  all  Action,  ever  ^resent^  and  j)rpgressive. 
to  the  end.  In  the  Plot  and  Scenario  of  Ihgomar  we  gave 
what  is  included  in  the  second  scene  of  the  first  act  of  the 
play.  Now,  read  it,  and  you  will  see  that  the  object  of  the 
scene  was  worked  out  by  a  conflict  between  the  mother  and 
daughter  that  requires  two  pages  of  discussion  between 
them.  If  they  both  remained  seated  and  held  that  con- 
versation it  would  still  be  Action,  but,  of  course,  animation 
and  relief  to  the  eye,  variety  and^  many  other  reasons  re- 
quire them  to  change  position,  cross,  rise,  sit,  &c.,  all  con- 
tributing to  the  better  understanding  and  appreciation  of 
the  feelings  of  the  characters  and  of  the  progress  of  the 
Action.  Notice  the  points  made :  The  rnother  tells  Parthe- 
nia  that  it  is  time  for  her  to  cease  to  be  a  child,  that  Polydor 
is  rich  and  asks  her  hand;  we  see  by  her  manner  that  the 
subject  surprises  and  annoys  her;  that  she  hzts  rejected 
other  lovers,  and  why?  That  she  is  worthy  of  love  and 
beautiful;  the  mother  commends  to  her  that  love;  but 
Parthenia  objects  to  letting  her  parents  choose  a  husband 


126  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE; 

for  her;  the  girl  explains  that  she  will  wait  until  her  heart 
answers,  because  she  has  learned  from  her  mother's  lips 
the  sanctity  of  love ;  the  mother  tries  to  take  back  what  she 
calls  her  own  prattle  and  says  Polydor  is  honorable;  Par- 
thenia  says  No — he  beats  down  her  needy  father;  the 
mother  defends  Polydor;  the  girl  begs  to  be  permitted  to 
work — to  do  anything  but  marry  Polydor;  she  is  sorry  to 
make  her  mother  angry;  her  mother  reproaches  her  on 
account  of  her  indifference  to  her  father's  struggles.  She 
protests  that  he  is  always  in  her  thoughts;  and  her  mother 
leaves  her,  calling  her  an  ungrateful  and  selfish  child. 
There  you  see  a  constant  state  of  vibration.  You  doubt 
what  the  girl  will  do;  you  hope  she  will  escape  Polydor; 
you  sympathize  with  her;  you  feel  with  her  regret  at  her 
mother's  change  oJ  feeling  toward  her.  The  result  of  the 
scen^  causes  the  next  scene,  for  in  the  next  scqgie — which 
has  detarl)^  Action  of  mind^  in.  it^ifce  F^s^lveS  t&  do  her 
-•"duty"  as  her  mother  sees  it.  The  play  is  being  developed 
by  means  of  this  Action,  Cause  and  Effect,  Cause  and  Effect, 
all  bearing  on  the  solution  of  the  main  problem.  Action 
means  change  all  the  time.  The  relations  of  the  characters 
are  changing  all  the  while,  giving  new  intent  to  what  they 
say  to  each  other  or  what  is  done  by  them.  When  the  bar- 
barians dispute  one  with  another  we  fear  for  her  safety 
and  wonder  how  her  fate  will  be  settled;  that  is  Action. 
When  Ingomar  takes  her  as  his  share  of  the  booty  we  are 
not  sure  what  he  will  do  with  her;  that  is  Action;  and 
when  he  tries  to  gratify  his  wild  desire  we  are  intent  on 
the  result.  The  scales  are  wavering  and  the  Action  is  not 
over  until  the  scales  balance.  Observe  that  Action  does  not 
need  to  be  violent  or  explosive,  for  drama  includes  placid 
plays  as  well  as  the  intensely  melo-dramatic  and  tragic. 
But  the  Action  must  interest,  must  conform  to  the  simple 
requirements  described.  What  is  said  and  done  must  cause 
the  wheels  to  move.  Note  the  scene  in  the  second  act 
where  Parthenia  describes  love  "as  her  mother  says." 
What  is  that  Action?    Is  the  mere  recital  Action,  as  pretty 


THE  ACTION   OF  A  PLAY  12/ 

as  it  is  ?  No — we  see  that  her  artless  talk  is  spinning  a  web 
around  Ingomar,  although  she  does  not  know  it.  If  you 
think  you  detect  scenes  in  which  there  is  no  Action  seek 
for  it.    It  is  there. 

Make  sure  that  you  understand  what  Action  is;  find  out 
how  many  points  of  Action  there  are  in  a  given  scene. 
Tell  what  doubts,  emotions,  &c.,  are  aroused;  get  into  the 
spirit  of  Action. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  craftsmanship,  the  Action  is 
the  execution  or  carrying  out  in  detail  of  the  Divisions 
which  have  been  made — the  scientific  definition  of  Action 
being  development  of  the  Story  in  the  minds  of  the  audi- 
ence. Consequently,  in  a  good  play,  all  is  Action ;  it  is  the 
final,  rounded,  detailed  fruition,  the  actual  living  play,  every 
moment  of  it,  like  the  blood  that  courses  in  the  veins,  the 
heart  beat  which  is  not  to  cease  for  one  moment.  In  "The 
Lady  of  Lyons"  there  is  no  lapse  from  Action,  and 
consequently  we  can  cite  no  instances  of  what  is  NOT 
Action.  But  our  present  purpose  is  mainly  to  discover 
what  Action  is  and  to  become  so  familiar  with  it  as  to  re- 
cognize its  presence  or  its  absence  instantly.  The  Propo- 
sition, the  Plot,  the  Division  into  Acts  and  Scenes  indicate 
Action  right  along;  the  Action  being  provided  for,  but  it 
becomes  real,  visible  Action  only  when  the  characters  set 
it  in  motion.  The  very  first  scene,  although  we  have  point- 
ed out  littl£_iiiQreL.iiijLJJiaii-^^  of  the  pride  of 
Pauline  and  her  mother  and  their  expectation  of  a  lofty 
marriage,  is  as  truly  Action  as  the  scene  wherein  Claude 
tears  up  the  papers,  and  throws  down  his  purse  to  thwart 
Beauseant,  in  the  last  act.  Pauline's  wondering  who  sent 
her  the  flowers  in  the  first  scene  is  Action  because  it  keeps 
alive  the  idea  that  she  is  courted  and  that  she  has  a  right 
and  every  reason  to  expect  a  brilliant  marriage.  When  the 
maid  alters  the  position  of  the  rose  in  Pauline's  hair  it  is. 
Action;  because  it  concerns  her  pride,  and,  in  particular, 
her  beauty  upon  which  is  founded  her  hope  of  such  mar- 
riage as  she  may  select.     The  command  to  the  maid  to 


128  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

order  the  carriage  is  Action,  for  it  shows  the  wealth  that 
thinks  itself  entitled  to  rank,  and  because  it  has  its  bearing 
on  that  pride  that  will  scorn  the  attention  of  the  gardener's 
son;  Action,  every  word  is  instinct  with  Action.  Beau- 
seant's  resentment  at  being  rejected  is  as  much  Action  as 
his  later  resolve  to  be  revenged.  His  confidence  as  he  en- 
ters is  as  much  Action  as  his  surprise  at  Madam  Deschap- 
pelles'  saying  that  her  husband  would  not  interfere.  "We 
shall  always  be  happy  to  see  you  as  an  acquaintance"  is  as 
much  Action  as  the  actual  refusal.  It  belongs  there  and  is 
a  part  of  the  res  gestae.  The  emotions  are  in  a  state  of 
ebullition.  The  relations  are  constantly  changing, —  Ac- 
tion. When  Damas  asks  Pauline  if  she  has  recovered  from 
last  night's  ball  and  remarks  that  her  triumph  may  be 
fatiguing,  it  is  Action,  for  it  concerns  the  very  matter  of 
her  pride  and  right  to  think  she  can  select  from  her  many 
suitors.  When  Damas  suggests  that  perhaps  they  are  look- 
ing to  an  alliance  with  Beauseant,  when  we  already  know 
what  has  happened  and  Damas  does  not,  could  you  want 
a  better  illustration  of  Action?  Action  also  concerns  what  V 
is  to  come,  what  the  audience  surmises ;  but  there  is  also 
another  Action  to  be  described  as  Reflex  Action ;  and  here 
we  have  it,  in  that  the  scene  of  Beauseant's  rejection  pre- 
sents itself  in  a  flash  to  the  minds  of  the  audience.  The  very 
greeting,  "  Cousin  Deschappelles,"  is  Action,  for  we  see  a 
possible  influence  on  the  part  of  Damas  as  an  adviser.  But 
Action  is  a  larger  question  than  it  is  designed  to  fully 
cover  here.  With  this  indication  of  the  abounding  and 
ramifying  nature  of  the  Action,  and  reminding  the  student 
of  the  Action  pointed  out  under  the  Division  into  Scenes, 
we  reserve  fuller  discussion  to  the  sections  of  our  study 
on  play  construction  and  the  philosophy  of  the  principles. 
One  thing  at  a  time.  For  the  present  discover  what  the 
Action  IS  in  these  plays,  adding  it  to  the  examples  that 
we  have  given.  It  may  require  volumes  to  indicate  and 
explain  every  particle  of  Action  in  these  plays.  If  you  are 
a  real  student  you  will  exercise  j^our  mind  in  the  matter 


THE   ACTION   OF  A   PLAY  1 29 

and  supplement  what  is  here  given.  The  principle  has 
been  pointed  out  to  you.     See  to  its  application  in  Detail. 

In  a  successful  and  artistic  play  like  "Camille"  in  which 
the  Action  is  correct  in  every  detail,  it  is  not  profitable  to 
seek  examples  of  the  absence  of  Action.  Consequently, 
the  only  form  of  exercise  on  the  negation  of  the  principle 
in  this  play  is  to  convert  Action  into  Inaction.  This  we 
shall  do  without  directing  our  attention  particularly  to  the 
Action  which  is  included  and  suggested  in  the  Proposi- 
tion, the  Plot  and  the  Division  into  Acts.  We  shall  treat 
of  them  incidentally  and  concern  ourselves  mainly  with 
that  Action  which  is  within  the  scenes  themselves.  Speak- 
ing generally,  the  Action  may  be  destroyed  in  many  ways: 
by  wrong  Sequence,  Story,  lack  of  Cause  and  Effect,  lack 
of  Preparation,  or  by  the  non  use  or  misuse  of  any  one  of 
the  principles. 

If  at  the  rise  of  the  curtain  Nanine  and  Varville  chat- 
tered on  indifferent  subjects  and  had  not  confined  them- 
selves to  the  one  fact  that  Varville  was  waiting  for  Ca- 
mille ;  if  Nichette  called  for  the  bundle,  leaving  the  impres- 
sion that  it  was  a  matter  of  importance,  from  which  we 
were  to  expect  something;  and  if  Varville  and  Nanine  had 
discussed  Camille  on  general  principles,  as  a  matter  of  gos- 
sip, without  reference  to  Varville's  suit,  the  Action  would 
be  imperfect,  if  not  altogether  entirely  lacking.  The  inter- 
est would  have  been  too  languid.     Interest is almost  a 

synonym  of  Action.  As  introductory  talk  the  scenes  might 
have  contained  a  mild  kind  of  Action  so  far  as  the  audience 
was  concerned,  but  do  you  not  see  that  they  might  have 
talked  of  many  things  of  great  interest  to  themselves  but 
of  none  whatever  to  the  audience?  If  Camille,  on  her  re- 
turn, had  treated  Varville  politely,  and  if  he  had  then  pre- 
ferred his  suit  and  she  had  smilingly  put  him  off  for  his 
answer,  there  would  have  been  lack  of  Action  because  of 
its  aimlessness.  There  are  innumerable  ways  of  making  a 
scene  insufferably  tame.  In  this  play  the  Action  has  been 
9 


130  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

built  Up  from  the  very  beginning  in  the  structure,  and  it 
only  remained  to  make  the  scene  Action  effective.  There 
are  a  great  many  possible  ways  of  doing  a  thing  wrong 
and  undramatically,  and  the  amateur  will  do  the  wrong 
thing  ninety  times  in  a  hundred  opportunities.  He  em- 
braces false  methods  with  alacrity  because  they  are  conven- 
ient. If  Armand  had  been  introduced  into  the  house  with- 
out the  information  that  he  loved  Camille  to  madness  there 
would  have  been  no  Action  to  speak  of.  If  Camille  had  not 
been  drawn  to  Armand  by  the  reference  to  his  sister,  and 
the  conversation  not  have  been  overheard  by  her,  the  point 
of  the  scene  would  have  been  lost.  The  fact  as  to  the  sis- 
ter would  have  remained,  but  it  would  not  have  been 
Action.  The  fact  that  Armand's  father  is  a  "gruff,"  crusty 
old  gentleman  comes  into  the  Action  later  on,  and  is 
necessary  to  the  gradation  here  of  the  Dialogue,  but  the 
immediate  Action  is  the  sister  used  in  the  way  it  is.  /if 
/Armand  had  engaged  in  the  frivolities  of  the  supper  talk, 
\  whereby  Camille  would  have  observed  that  he  was  not 
v<iifferent  from  the  other  men,  the  scene  would  be  absolutely 
■without  Action  and  tedious  to  a  degree.  It  may  be  said 
that  no  one  would  have  written  these  scenes  in  the  wrong 
way  and  without  these  points.  Preposterous!  No  ama- 
teur would  have  constructed  it  in  the  masterly  fashion  of 
Dumas.  Let  us  assume  that  he  would  have  had  the  scene 
between  Armand  and  Camille  in  which  he  tells  her  of  his 
love.  Even  so,  the  scene  would  not  have  its  proper  basis 
to  rest  on.  Destroying  previous  scenes  we  destroy  the 
effect  of  a  given  scene.  li  Camille  had  not  seen  that 
Armand  was  different  from  the  others,  his  talk  would 
hardly  have  convinced  her  or  the  audience.  We  want  to 
^et  full  effects.  Half  a  loaf  in  the  drama  is  generally  worth 
less  than  no  loaf  at  all.  Of  what  use  is  half  a  yard  of  cloth 
when  you  need  a  full  yard?  If  Camille  had  doubted  Arm- 
and's  love,  or  had  not  been  touched  by  it  and  had  laughed 
at  him,  the  scene  would  not  have  had  any  value.  She  might 
have  done  all  these  things — in  some  other  play.     In  this 


THE   ACTION    OF    A   PLAY  I3I 

play  everything  is  done  with  reference  to  something  at 
issue^J  What  would  be  Action  in  one  play  is  not  necessarily 
Action  in  another.  Let  Camille  accept  Armand's  Propo- 
sition in  this  scene,  let  her  not  send  him  away  unsatisfied, 
and  the  charm  of  the  scene  (interest  again)  or  its  true 
Action  in  another.  Let  Camille  accept  Armand's  propo- 
Camille  and  Armand  in  the  Second  Act  take  out  the  fact 
that  Camille  is  to  use  the  money  sent  to  her  by  the  Due  de 
Meuriac,  which  is  unknown  to  Armand,  and  the  fact  that 
Armand's  point  of  view  is  loftier  than  hers,  the  value  of 
the  scene  would  be  lost,  and  while  their  Dialogue  might 
have  been  prolonged  it  would  have  been  largely  a  repeti- 
tion and  would  have  destroyed  the  future  Action.  There 
would  have  been  no  development  in  the  spirituality  of 
Camille,  not  to  speak  of  the  utterly  inconsistent  character 
of  Arn^and.  Take  out  the  secret  opposition  of  Camille  to 
Armand's  plans  and  the  open  opposition  of  Armand  to 
Camille's  plans,  as  he  suspects  and  finally  learns  them, 
there  would  be  no  constant  progress  of  the  Action.  Let 
them  both  agree,  the  tides  meet  and  the  Action  becomes 
slack  and  without  current.  The  remaining  scenes  in  the 
act  could  only  be  changed  into  Inaction  by  departing  from 
the  Plot  and  the  proper  object  of  the  scenes.  The  scene 
between  Camille,  Gustave  and  Nichette  would  be  converted 
into  Inaction  itthuay  talked  only  of  the  affairs  of  Nichette 
and  Gustave.  7  In  the  great  scene  between  Camille  and 
Armand's  fatner  the  Action  would  be  destroyed  if  she 
accepted  a  money  compensation  from  the  father.  In  the 
scene  between  Camille  and  Armand  there  would  be  no 
Action  if  he  suspected  that  his  father  had  talked  with  her 
and,  therefore,  had  reason  to  believe  that  the  note  which 
he  does  not  secure  from  her  was  one  of  farewell.  Of  course, 
a  scene  with  Action  in  it  might  be  written  including  those 
two  points,  but  not  this  particular  scene  in  this  particular 
play.  We  wish  to  show  conclusively  that  a  scene  must  be 
written  according  to  the  specifications  of  the  scene,  and 
that  nothing  must  be  left  to  chance,  else  the  fly  may  and 


132  ANAlwYSiS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

will  creep  into  the  ointment.    If  you  are  writing  at  random 
why  could  you  not  have  Armand  suspect  that  his  father 
had  talked  with  Camille  and  separated  them?    Without  a 
plan  involving  every  object  of  a  scene  you  may  not  go 
astray  all  the  time,  but  you  will  do   so  often  enough  to 
ruin  the  Action.    The  Action  of  the  fourth  act  is  so  com- 
pact that  it  would  be  profitless  to  speculate  with  it.    The 
Action  of  the  last  act  would  be  impaired  if  not  destroyed 
if  we  introduced  at  the  beginning  of  it  that  Camille  was 
S    momentarily   expecting  the   arrival   of  Armand   or   if   we 
1    coul'd  keep  out  of  it  the  hope  of  the  audience  that  he  would  I 
I    return.  """^ 

In  making  out  the  Plot  we  provide  for  the  Plot  Action, 
and  carry  out  the  Action  still  further  by  means  of  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  Action  of  the  scenes  as  scenes.  Of  course, 
all  this  tends  to  a  practical  and  consistent  result,  but  it  is 
the  theoretical  Action  of  the  play  until  the  Action  in  each 
moment  of  the  play  develops  scene  and  act,  unfolding  and 
demonstrating  each  division,  until  a  complete,  inclusive 
whole  is  formed  and  everything  resolves  itself  into  the  Pro- 
position. You  get  back  to  your  starting  point.  Q.  E.  D. 
We  designate  and  treat  a  principle  in  our  formulation  of 
the  science  and  art  according  to  its  greatest  power  and 
radiating  activity. 

The  audience  does  not  see  Plot  except  as  it  is  unfolded 
and  accomplished.  Action  must  be  seen  and  felt  all  the 
time.  We  have  examined  the  nature  of  Action  and  know 
something  of  its  elements.  The  safest  general  test  of  Ac-  1/ 
tion  is,  Does.it .interest?  If  you  witness  or  have  read  to 
you  a  scene,  and  it  does  not  interest  you,  you  may  be  sure 
that  there  is  something  wrong  with  the  Action.  That  is 
enough.  There  is  no  need  to  try  such  final  tests,  if  we  may 
so  illustrate  it,  as  a  mirror  suspended  over  the  mouth  of 
your  character  to  catch  a  possible  vapor  of  breath,  or  hold 
its  fingers  to  the  candle  light  to  see  if  the  red  corpuscles  of 
the  blood  are  in  slight  circulation.  Don't  waste  any  refine- 
ments of  logic  over  it.    It  does  not  interest,  hence  there  is- 


THE  ACTION  OF  A  PLAY  1 33 

no  Action  of  a  kind  to  satisfy  the  drama.  There  must  be 
Action,  and  it  must  interest  at  every  moment  of  the  play, 
and  always  interest  with  reference  to  the  Action  of  the  play ; 
mere  local  Action  or  excitation  or  interest  is  not  really 
worth  a  pin  head.  Is  it  not  important  then,  to  consider 
Action  with  reference  to  this  quality?  In  analyzing  "Still 
Waters  Run  Deep"  have  we  not  already  disposed  of  the 
Action  of  the  Plot,  and  of  the  scenes  as  scenes?  Are  we 
not,  then,  ready  to  continue  our  dissection  to  the  filaments 
and  smallest  nerves?  Let  us  examine  the  Action  of  the 
play  from  this  point  of  view. 
/^.'•'The  curtain  rises  upon  a  scene  that  is  obvioftsly  one  of 
^'^a  family  fireside.  The  first  six  speeches  apprise  us  who 
the  principals  are,  their  relations  and  state  of  mind  toward 
each  other.  You  are  at  once  in  possession  of  enough  in- 
formation to  have  your  interest  and  curiosity  excited. 
Forthwith  we  see  that  the  wife,  the  aunt  and  the  father- 
in-law  agree  in  holding  that  a  man  who  prefers  "Auld 
Robin  Gray"  to  "Beethoven"  "has  no  soul  for  music." 
Potter  even  adds  that  he  has  no  soul  "for  anything." 
Wouldn't  this  rile  you?  What  is  Mildmay  going  to  do 
about  it?  Surely,  at  least,  here  is  a  promising  state  of 
affairs.  We  appreciate  Mildmay's  self-restraint.  There  is 
Action  in  his  reply:  "Very  well."  We  sympathize  with 
him  when  he  suggests  to  his  wife  a  quiet  little  dinner  at 
Richmond  tomorrow,  and  it  is  a  new  and  interesting  de- 
velopment when  his  amiable  suggestion  is  not  entertained, 
on  account  of  the  aunt's  dinner.  Oh,  ho,  Mildmay,  you 
are  in  a  hard  way  if  the  aunt  who  has  probably  raised 
Emily  from  a  bottle  is  really  the  head  of  the  house !  What 
in  the  world  did  you  ever  let  your  wife's  aunt  and  your 
father-in-law  come  into  the  house  to  live  with  you  for, 
Mildmay?  What's  the  use?  Hasn't  Mrs.  Sternhold  said 
that  she  certainly  expected  her  to  dine  with  them?  and  did 
not  Emily  nod  approvingly,  and  did  not  old  Potter  blow 
his  nose  on  his  bandana  at  this  moment  in  a  most  exasper- 
ating way,  not  from  any  necessity,  but  as  a  token  of  en- 


134  ANALYSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

couragement  to  the  women,  as  you  well  know?  You  are 
not  going  to  have  any  music.  Oh,  get  up  and  go  out !  And 
go  out  he  does  to  earth  up  the  celery.  He  can't  do  anything 
to  please  his  wife,  it  is  plain.  She  has  driven  him  off,  and 
lays  all  the  blame  on  the  vegetables.  But  Mildmay  will 
stay  if  she  wants  him  to  do  so.  Emily,  bless  you,  doesn't 
care  whether  he  stays  or  not.  And  Mrs.  Sternhold  attacks 
him  in  the  rear  with  the  aggravating  statement  that  his 
wife  "would  be  the  last  person  to  thwart  your  wishes." 
The  illogical  old  cat!  He  doesn't  know  what  to  do.  He 
settles  down  on  the  sofa.  The  man  has  tried  his  best  to 
be  agreeable,  and  he  makes  it  worse.  The  aunt  requests 
music.  Oh,  yes,  Emily'll  play  for  Auntie.  What?  Oh, 
any  thing,  old  thing  or  new  thing.  This  is  Action,  reflex 
Action,  present  Action,  facing  backwards  and  forwards. 
Mrs.  Mildmay  is  nagging  at  Mildmay  whether  he  is  awake 
or  asleep.  We  begin  to  see  what  a  prosaic  fellow  Mildmay 
is.  He  works  in  the  garden  all  day.  The  fact  that  comes 
out  that  they  have  been  married  only  a  year  is  Action  in 
the  circumstances.  Mrs.  Sternhold  pokes  up  the  fire  of  con- 
tention and  sends  a  constant  chain  of  sparks  flying  up 
the  domestic  chimney.  It  is  Action  when  Mrs.  Sternhold 
ADMITS  that  Mildmay  is  stupid,  but  says  that  he  can  be 
managed,  having  no  will  of  his  own.  Somehow,  we  doubt 
it.  We  feel  sure  that  the  poor  worm  is  going  to  turn  in 
good  time.  This  entire  scene  has  been  establishing  the 
premises  of  the  Action.  It  was  all  about  something.  If  we 
knew  what  was  coming,  why  Mildmay  was  going  to  Man- 
chester, we  might  say  that  we  heard  the  first  click  of  the 
Plot  Action  in  his  announcement  that  he  was  going  to 
Manchester  that  night.  But  we  do  distinctly  hear  a  click 
of  the  Plot  Action  in  Mrs.  Mildmay's  comparing  her  hus- 
band with  Hawksley.  Now  we  understand  what  is  the 
matter  with  you,  you  silly  creature.  The  Plot  Action 
clicks  again  when  we  learn  that  Hawksley  has  enough  in- 
fluence with  Mrs.  Sternhold  to  have  her  urge  her  brother 
to  invest  in  his  schemes.    The  minor  Action  is  kept  up  all 


THE  ACTION   OF   A   PLAY  135 

the  time  in  developing  the  character  of  Mrs.  Sternhold. 
The  bare  facts  are  Action  and  interest  us.  Hawksley  has 
been  a  suitor  for  Emily's  hand.  There  is  danger,  Emily. 
Even  Potter  thinks  so,  and  gives  very  good  reasons  for  so 
thinking;  and  we  agree  with  him.  We  hardly  suspect  that 
Mrs.  Sternhold  is  in  love  with  Hawksley  herself,  although 
it  is  well  enough  if  it  is  a  slight  impression,  but  there  is 
enough  to  occupy  us  in  our  apprehensions  for  Emily.  There 
is  business  on  hand,  in  any  event.  We  suspected  that  Pot- 
ter knew  what  he  was  talking  about;  now  we  know  it. 
Hawksley  is  more  of  a  rascal  than  we  thought.  He  is 
taking  advantage  of  the  romanticism  of  a  silly  woman. 
Every  line  of  the  interview  is  full  of  Action.  Hawksley 
learns  that  Mildmay  is  going  out  of  town.  We  hope  he 
isn't.  But,  in  any  event,  we  want  to  see  this  matter  de- 
veloped. The  scene  has  Action  enough  of  its  own,  but  it 
is  rendered  more  intense  by  our  knowledge  that  Mrs. 
Sternhold  is  behind  the  screen  and  listening  to  it  all.  Now 
we  know  that  he  has  been  trifling  with  the  mature  Mrs. 
Sternhold.  It  will  be  an  interesting  scene  when  they  meet. 
We  are  thinking  of  Mildmay  all  the  time,  too.  But  we  are 
sure  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  is  gomg  to  settle  this  business 
with  Hawksley  in  person.  Mildmay  isn't  oiT  yet,  but  he 
is  going.  He  overhears  the  negotiations  between  Hawk- 
sley and  Potter  while  he  is  on  the  ladder  painting  the 
trellis.  We  now  see  that  he  is  in  possession  of  the  facts 
as  to  Hawksley's  financial  schemes.  We  know  that  Potter 
is  going  to  refer  the  matter  to  Mrs.  Sternhold,  and  we  know 
her  state  of  mind.  Will  she  advise  against  it  now?  What 
will  be  the  outcome  of  the  interview  which  we  are  looking 
forward  to  with  such  interest.  A  double  interest  is  in  it 
now.  Hawksley  delivers  the  letter  which  makes  Mildmay's 
trip  to  Manchester  unnecessary ;  so  then  he  will  be  at  home 
when  Hawksley  attempts  to  visit  Mrs.  Mildmay  after  all 
have  retired.  The  Action  as  to  Mildmay  is  rather  exas- 
perating, but  still  it  moves.  The  scene  between  Emily 
and   Mrs.    Sternhold   is   good  Action ;   that  between   Mrs. 


136  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E 

Sternhold  and  Hawksley  is  peppery  with  it.  If  we  were 
not  sure  that  Mildmay  is  playing  his  game  and  that  his 
information  about  Hawksley  restrains  him  from  interfer- 
ing at  this  moment,  we  should  expect  him  to  interrupt  the 
interview.  The  countercheck  by  Hawksley  with  the  threat 
as  to  the  compromising  letters  gives  a  sharp  turn  to  the 
Action  here.  We  know  now  that  Hawksley  will  not  return 
that  night,  for  Mrs.  Sternhold  has  intercepted  the  inter- 
view he  had  planned;  consequently  when  Mildmay  sur- 
prises his  wife  on  her  return  to  the  room  we  are  prepared 
for  his  reticence  and  his  simulated  pursuit  of  the  burglar. 
The  act  closes  with  a  state  of  affairs,  everything  in  solu- 
tion, and  prepares  for  Mildmay's  movement  against  Hawk- 
sley. The  Action  was  only  possible  by  reason  of  the  de- 
velopment of  the  Plot.  All  this  was  arranged  before  the 
dialogue  was  written;  the  Action  followed  naturally.  Mrs. 
Sternhold  has  been  checkmated  to  the  extent  that  she 
cannot  prevent  the  investments.  It  is  necessary  for  Mild- 
may to  get  the  shares  in  his  possession.  He  does  this.  We 
know  his  purpose,  without  seeing  the  exact  means  by 
which  he  will  force  Hawksley  to  terms.  The  talk  between 
Hawksley  and  Dunbilk  is  Action,  for  we  see  plainly  the 
rascally  nature  of  his  schemes  and  his  immediate  necessity 
for  cash.  He  is  expecting  Mildmay  with  money  to  invest. 
How  is  Mildmay  going  to  defeat  him?  We  are  interested 
in  Hawksley's  argument  about  the  value  of  the  shares  be- 
cause we  know  that  Mildmay  is  not  going  to  invest  or  be 
duped  and  we  wish  to  see  his  next  move.  We  feel  that 
Hawksley's  confident  glibness  will  lead  to  nothing  but  his 
own  discomfiture.  We  know  something  that  he  does  not 
know.  The  Action  becomes  rapid,  new  points  coming 
quick  and  fast,  the  apparent  advantage  now  on  this  side, 
then  on  the  other.  The  whole  matter  would  come  to  an 
end  with  this  transaction  if  we  knew  positively  that  Mild- 
may knew  of  or  had  in  his  possession  the  second  forged 
bill.  In  point  of  fact,  Mildmay  has  not  got  it  yet.  We  have 
the  perspective  of  Hawksley's  going  to  dinner  tomorrow 


THE  ACTION   OF    A.   PLAY  137 

with  the  design  of  humiliating  Mildmay  before  his  own 
family  and  regaining  his  control.  The  Action  of  the  Plot 
is  sustained  to  the  last  by  means  of  the  Action  of  the 
moment. 

Destroy  the  Plot  or  impair  the  Plot  and  you  destroy  the 
Action  in  the  scenes  and  in  the  details  of  the  moment,  or 
you  impair  them.  Action  is  referable  back  to  Proposition 
and  Plot.  Complete  Action  is  dominated  by  them.  We 
have  seen  how  Sequence  and  Cause  and  Effect  are  the 
absolute  requirements  and  characteristics  of  Plot,  so  that  if 
you  get  them  out  of  order  there  can  be  no  effective  Action 
in  the  scenes.  The  object  of  the  first  scene  was  mainly  to 
show  that  Mildmay  was  henpecked  and  without  authority. 
Devote"  tlie  first  scene  to  a  discussion  of  Hawksley  and 
follow  it  with  a  scene  showing  that  Mildmay  was  hen- 
pecked and  the  interest  would  be  gone.  If  it  had  not  been 
shown  first  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  was  dominant  in  the  house 
and  that  Potter  deferred  to  her,  and  that  the  investment 
depended  upon  her,  the  interview  between  Hawksley  and 
Mrs.  Sternhold  would  have  lost  the  material  part  of  its 
Action.  If  it  were  not  Self-explanatory  why  Mildmay  ex- 
ercised his  policy  of  "laissez  faire,"  our  interest  would  not 
follow  his  movements.  The  very  same  scenes  and  ideas  in 
a  different  arrangement  would  make  the  whole  vapid.  If 
discussion  of  Hawksley,  particularly  as  to  his  financial 
schemes,  had  been  introduced  in  the  first  scene,  the  oppor- 
tunity itself  to  show  the  relations  in  the  household  would 
have  been  lost.  It  would  have  been  on  a  different  key.  It 
would  have  been  about  something  else,  and  might  have 
been  Action,  but  not  of  the  right  kind.  Mere  Action  is 
nothing.  If  the  first  scene  had  not  been  objective  and' Bad 
b£en  deypted  to  an  abstract  talk  about  Mildmay's  charac- 
ter, his  gardening  and  his  prosaic  ways  and  habits  of 
thought,  the  Action  would  have  been  slow  and  dreary.  We 
dwell  on  this  first  scene  because  it  is  a  fine  example  of 
minute  Action  about  One  thing,  its  minuteness  being  made 
possible  only  because  it  is  about  one  thing.    Variety  under 


138  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLlS 

one  main  object  in  a  scene  is  drama;  variety  under  two 
or  three  main  or  equal  objects  is  impossible  and  is  not 
drama.  There  is  no  better  example  of  minor  Action  than 
this  scene. 

We  started  out  to  show  the  Action  of  the  moment,  that 
Action  must  exist  in  every  syllable.  The  Action  of  Plot 
might  be  destroyed  by  the  absence,  among  other  things,  of 
the  Unexpected.  Let  us  apply  that  principle  to  the  mo- 
ment. Suppose  Mrs.  Sternhold  had  let  the  audience  know 
before  she  began  her  interview  with  Hawksley  that  he  had 
thirteen  compromising  letters  from  her.  The  dialogue 
would  have  been  very  tame  when  he  countered  on  her  by 
threatening  her  with   them. 

There  are  many  good  examples  in  this  play  of  Action  im- 
plied rather  than  expressed.  This  may  be  noted  in  the 
scene  between  Mildmay  and  Mrs.  Sternhold  in  the  second 
act.  She  seems  to  make  up  her  mind  to  confide  in  Mild- 
may  and  see  if  she  can  "inspire  his  sluggish  nature  with 
one  spark  of  chivalry  or  sentiment."  We  are  all  interest, 
for  we  know  that  it  is  a  dangerous  secret  and  that  she  dis- 
trusts the  courage  of  Mildmay.  Will  she  disclose  the  se- 
cret and  ask  him  to  defend  her?  Mildmay  answers  that 
if  a  man  has  insulted  her  he  would  do  the  right  thing,  of 
course.  "Might  I  trouble  you  for  the  sugar  basin?"  We  see 
at  once  that  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  take  his  own 
course.  He  knows  the  secret,  and  he  does  not  invite  confi- 
dence. We  know  that  he  is  going  to  take  care  of  the  case 
in  his  own  way.  "Butter,  please."  We  soon  see  that  she 
wants  him  to  fight  Hawksley  on  general  principles  and  is 
not  anxious  to  reveal  her  secret.  She  does  not  even  tell 
by  whom  she  has  been  insulted,  and  we  know  why  he  does 
not  enquire  as  to  the  name  of  the  offender.  "I  see ;  a  lady 
has  been  insulted,  and  she  wishes  me  to  insist  on  gentle- 
manly satisfaction  on  her  account."  He  then  reminds  her 
of  the  opinion  she  expressed  of  him  as  he  was  lying  on  the 
sofa.  She  does  not  remember  saying  it.  Action,  for  we 
know  that  she  did  say  it.    He  then  lays  down  a  little  do- 


THi:  ACTION   01^  A   PLAY  1 39 

mestic  law  to  her,  and  she  leaves  indignant.  It  is  going  to 
be  a  surprise  to  her  when  Mildmay  turns  over  the  letters  to 
her.  If  Mildmay  has  a  hold  on  Hawksley  he  is  going  to 
get  those  letters ;  we  feel  sure  of  that.  Potter  enters.  "Well, 
Mildmay,  have  you  settled  matters  with  my  sister?''  "Well, 
I  think  I  have  pretty  well;  it  was  about  these  shares  of 
Hawksley's."  We  know  how  well  he  has  settled  matters 
with  Mrs.  Sternhold,  and  also  that  their  talk  has  not  been 
about  Hawksley's  shares.  Fine  Action,  Action  down  to  the 
last  syllable.  Potter  doesn't  know.  We  do.  It  would  have 
been  very  tame  Action  indeed  if  Mrs.  S.  had  told  Mildmay 
of  Hawksley's  threat  and  his  possession  of  the  letters,  and 
he  had  assured  her  that  he  intended  to  get  them  back  for 
her.  It  would  have  destroyed  the  future  scene  in  which  he 
returns  them  to  her,  converting  it,  at  least,  to  mere  acted 
Story.  In  all  these  scenes  something  is  left  in  solution  by 
means  of  doubt,  opposition,  hope,"¥ympathy,  insight  into 
character  and  all  the  elements  of  Action  available. 

In  "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  Massinger, 
having  in  his  mind  all  the  potentialities  of  his  mate- 
rial, sought  to  present  it  in  the  most  active,  effective, 
and  interesting  manner.  He  had  to  reduce  it,  in  all  its  parts, 
to  dramatic  shape.  Action  may  have  a  great  many  differ- 
ent forms.  When  we  see  a  tramp  refused  drink  it  may 
be  the  beginning  of  many  kinds  of  subsequent  Action,  and, 
in  America,  the  only  country  which  makes  the  tramp  a 
staple  article  of  humor,  we  would  expect  comedy.  The 
very  minute  Wellborn  changes  his  manner  toward  Tapwell 
and  Froth  a  very  definite  Action  begins.  "Verity,  you 
brache !  the  devil  turned  precisian !  rogue,  what  am  I  ?" 
We  are  surprised  at  this  turn  of  affairs,  at  his  spirit,  and  it 
is  plain  that  the  man  in  tattered  apparel  asking  for  drink 
is  no  common  person.  But  he  is  in  extremities,  and  we  do 
not  yet  know  who  is  in  the  right  or  wrong.  Tapwell  seems 
confident  enough  when  he  threatens  the  tramp  with  the 
constable.  What  right  has  Wellborn  to  such  anger?  Our 
curiosity  is  answered  when  we  hear  the  statement  that  he 


i 


140  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

had  given  the  inn  to  Tapwell.  Tapwell  does  not  directly 
admit  it,  and  we  do  not  know  the  details;  we  would  like 
to  hear  more  before  determining  our  sympathies.  The  situ- 
ation makes  the  dialogue  and  the  recital  exceedingly  inter- 
esting. As  we  listen  we  see  that  what  Tapwell  says  is  the 
truth ;  we  also  note  that  Wellborn  interrupts  him  but  once 
or  twice,  but  we  see  his  varying  emotions  and  finally  that 
he  is  even  amused  at  the  unaccustomed  facility  of  speech 
of  the  tapster.  All  the  facts  have  a  bearing  on  the  present 
moment  of  the  action  and  interest  in  themselves  and  with 
reference  to  other  things.  Beginning  without  any  sympa- 
thy with  Wellborn,  and  agreeing  that  he  has  reached  his 
degradation  by  his  own  fault,  we  are  entirely  on  his  side 
in  his  quarrel  with  Tapwell  when  we  understand  all  the 
circumstances.  Every  quarrel  is  an  Action;  we  want  to 
know  the  matter  at  issue  if  we  are  witnesses  of  it.  Life  is 
made  up  of  right  and  wrong,  and  wherever  it  is  involved  we 
stop,  even,  if  it  is  on  a  street  corner,  and  listen.  This  scene, 
then,  is  full  of  Action.  We  heartily  assent  to  every  blow 
that  Wellborn  gives  the  ingrate.  True,  Tapwell  is  not  worth 
his  anger,  and  when  Allworth  appears  and  causes  him  to 
desist,  the  Action  of  the  quarrel  is  brought  to  an  end.  It 
has  had  a  completeness  in  itself.  We  have  shown  how 
friendless  Wellborn  is,  and  now  it  is  a  new  Action  when 
we  find  that  he  has  a  friend  in  a  young  gentleman  of  evi- 
dent prosperity.  The  facts  that  are  brought  out  in  the 
talk  between  the  two  were  not  needed  for  the  first  scene 
any  more  than  the  fact  which  we  get  in  the  second  act  that 
Tapwell  was  acting  on  the  orders  of  Marrall,  under  instruc- 
tions from  Sir  Giles.  In  the  talk  between  Wellborn  and 
Allworth  there  is  none  of  that  movement  and  physical 
activity  which  some  people  confuse  with  Action  proper. 
The  upshot  of  it  is  that  Wellborn  refuses  all  aid  and  will 
retrieve  his  fortunes  in  his  own  way.  That  is  a  consid- 
erable advance  from  the  point  where  we  saw  him  demand- 
ing drink.  We  are  entirely  on  his  side  by  this  time.  We 
have  been  getting  new  facts  and  new  developments  all  the 


THi:  ACTION   01^  A  PLAY  I4I 

\ 

time.  Everything  has  been  in  a  state  of  evolution,  par- 
ticularly our  feeling  toward  Wellborn.  The  young  lover, 
too,  is  in  trouble,  and  Wellborn  is  compelled  to  give  him 
good  advice.  Observe  that  the  Action  is  confined  to  the 
advice  to  abandon  all  thought  of  Margaret,  and  Allworth's 
acquiescence  in  it.  That  is  to  say,  we  expect  nothing  more 
from  a  thing  that  is  really  to  become  a  material  part  of  the 
later  Action.  The  immediate  Action  was  to  develop  the 
character  of  Wellborn,  his  relations  with  other  characters 
and  the  justice  of  his  opinion  of  Sir  Giles.  It  is  all  inter- 
esting and  pertinent,  and  therefore  Action.  There  has  been 
little  or  no  Plot  Action  so  far,  but  the  Plot  of  the  first  set 
scene  has  been  carried  out  admirably.  Wellborn  will  re- 
trieve himself.  Imagine  the  introduction  of  the  many  addi- 
tional facts  that  might  have  been  talked  about  between 
Tapwell  and  Wellborn,  and  you  will  see  at  once  that  the 
Action  would  have  been  so  diluted  as  to  have  lost  all 
interest.  The  slightest  elaboration  of  the  dialogue  even  on 
its  present  lines  would  have  impaired  the  Action,  or  even, 
in  a  manner,  defeated  it.  If  they  had  talked  of  Marrall's  in- 
structions, that  would  have  led  to  some  account  of  that 
person  and  of  the  methods  of  Sir  Giles;  all  of  which 
would  have  been  premature  and  have  taken  away  our 
attention  from  the  one  main  purpose  of  the  scene.  There 
is  no  Plot  Action  discernible  in  the  scene  between  the  ser- 
vants in  the  hall  at  Lady  Allworth's.  How  futile,  then,  to 
attempt  to  make  all  Action  Plot  Action,  for,  surely,  this  is 
a  most  interesting  scene  and  full  of  minor  Action.  It  is 
complete  in  itself,  and  it  had  to  be,  for  its  most  important 
uses  are  for  subsequent  scenes  and  later  Action.  Lady 
Allworth's  advice  to  her  step-son  to  shun  Wellborn  is 
merely  incidental  to  her  interest  in  him,  but  instinct  with 
Action,  for  it  makes  us  much  doubt  the  success  of  the  hap- 
less Wellborn  when  he  sets  in  motion  his  plans  to  rehabili- 
tate himself.  The  scorn  of  the  servants,  and  this  further 
obstacle  of  the  expressed  resolve  of  Lady  Allworth  to  listen 
to  no  representations  on  behalf  of  Wellborn  add  doubt  and 


142  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

every  element  of  strong  Action.  Everything  that  goes  to 
show  the  character  and  state  of  this  Lady  Bountiful  is  Ac- 
tion and  not  mere  Life,  for  it  would  seem  to  make  her  ad- 
amantine in  her  austere  morals,  presenting  a  hopeless  front 
to  Wellborn.  She  is  a  person  of  authority  and  order. 
When  she  tells  Tabitha  and  Abigail  to  "sort  those  silks 
well,"  the  thing  of  real  importance  is  not  the  silks,  but  as 
we  have  indicated.  Observe  the  brevity  of  such  incidents. 
The  very  minute  you  attempt  to  depict  character  beyond  the 
Action  involved  and  implied  the  force  of  the  Action  abates. 
It  is  a  bit  of  color,  a  single  stroke  of  the  brush  by  the  true 
artist.  If  the  servants  had  merely  talked  of  the  seclusion 
of  their  mistress,  and  if  the  Action  of  the  quarrel  between 
them  had  not  been  used,  how  monotonous  would  have 
been  the  reiterated  talk  about  her  refusing  to  see  any  one. 
Here  we  realize  the  value  of  minor  Action  as  distinguished 
from  Plot  Action.  If  Wellborn  had  told  his  friend  that  he 
intended  to  visit  Lady  AUworth,  Tom  would  have  an- 
nounced the  intention  to  Lady  Allworth,  and,  in  that  event, 
the  Action  of  the  scene  in  which  she  counsels  him  against 
Wellborn  would  have  been  different  and  the  dialogue  some- 
thing else.  We  had  almost  forgotten  Wellborn,  but  now 
that  we  see  him  utterly  friendless  we  wonder  what  he  is 
going  to  do.  There  is  an  immediate  connection.  If  Lady 
Allworth  and  Tom  talked  exclusively  about  Lord  Lovell, 
and  she  had  given  him  her  advice  on  general  principles 
there  would  have  still  been  character,  the  Material  of  the 
play  would  have  been  wrongly  used,  and  the  Action  would 
not  have  stirred  it.  Add  Action  to  Character  and  it  becomes 
exceedingly  interesting.  It  is  possible  that  a  modern  play- 
wright would  have  the  Plot  Action  more  constantly  and 
visibly  in  motion.  He  might  have  regarded  Wellbom's 
contemplated  visit  as  a  part  of  the  Plot  Action  or  at  least 
one  of  the  turns  in  the  Action  which  should  be  placed  in 
view  earlier  in  this  scene.  But  as  it  is  we  are  so  interested 
in  all  that  she  says,  the  Action  as  to  Wellborn  comes  in 
exactly  the  right  place.     Her  warning  against  the  spend- 


f    UN!V' 

OF 


THE  ACTION   OF  A   PLAY  I43 


thrift  who  had  forfeited  respect  and  friendship  is  more  in- 
teresting than  her  general  advice,  and  would  have  swallowed 
it  up  if  it  had  been  placed  first ;  it  is  in  its  proper  Sequence 
and  leads  up  to  the  Action  proper.  Moreover,  there  is 
Action  in  our  feeling  that  the  foundations  are  being  laid, 
and  that  something  must  come  of  these  relations  indicated. 
Tom  does  not  say  one  word  about  Wellborn.  What  his 
step-mother  says  "is  to  him  an  oracle."  How  much  more 
delicate  and  yet  substantial  this  is  than  if  there  had  been 
a  striving  after  Plot  Action  or  complication.  When  Sir- 
Giles  comes  on  with  Marrall  and  Justice  Greedy  we  have  a 
full  abundance  of  minor  Action  again.  It  is  Action  be- 
cause it  has  a  completeness  of  its  own  and  is  interesting. 
The  scene  is  there  for  technical  purposes  in  order  to  have 
Wellborn  spurned  by  his  uncle.  If  you  had  placed  the 
Action  in  the  knowledge  on  the  part  of  the  audience  that 
Wellborn  was  coming  in  a  minute,  what  interest  could 
there  have  been  in  Greedy?  Greedy  is  to  serve  a  future 
and  a  constant  purpose,  in  addition  to  the  humor  he  pro- 
vides, and  the  scene  pays  for  itself.  The  Action  must  not 
be  an  accidental  thing,  and  simply  because  it  is  Action  does 
not  save  the  case;  it  must  be  the  right  Action.  Massinger 
is  looking  out  for  the  future,  too.  Lady  Allworth,  we  see, 
will  admit  no  one,  not  even  her  neighbor.  Sir  Giles.  That 
is  a  point  that  counts  and  makes  the  visit  of  Sir  Giles 
Action  and  worth  the  while.  From  the  time  Wellborn 
enters  to  the  close  of  the  Act  there  is  not  a  word  that  is 
not  Action.  There  is  a  constant  vibration  of  emotion,  of 
doubts,  of  chances,  of  everything  that  makes  Action.  Ac- 
tion is  a  constant  changing  of  the  molecules  until  a  new 
form  is  reached.  It  begins  here  with  apparent  hopelessness 
in  an  object  to  be  gained,  and  ends  with  complete  triumph. 
It  had  to  go  through  many  states  to  reach  it.  In  the  open- 
ing scene  of  the  second  act  we  have  plenty  of  Action,  gen- 
eral in  its  nature  at  first,  but  soon  coming  to  a  specific 
relation  to  Wellborn.  It  would  be  very  weak  Action  if  we 
did  not  first  have  proof  of  the  character  of  Marrall  and  of 


144  ANALYSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLK 

the  methods  of  Sir  Giles.  This  is  a  wonderful  play;  there  is 
a  phosphorescent  glow  of  Character  Action  in  it  every- 
where. It  is  a  play  with  a  somewhat  complicated  Plot, 
and  yet  it  is  preponderatingly  a  character  play.  The  Plot 
Action  is  directly  at  work  when  we  know  that  Marrall  is 
to  seek  the  ruin  of  Wellborn;  and  now  he  comes  on.  Is 
there  not  plenty  of  Action  in  the  scene  between  Marrall 
and  Wellborn?  It  has  great  excellence  in  its  treatment. 
It  is  full  of  detail.  It  is  only  at  the  end  of  the  scene  that 
Wellborn  announces  that  it  is  to  Lady  Allworth's  that  he 
invites  Marrall  to  dine.  How  beautifully  it  is  led  up  to. 
The  scene  at  Lady  Allworth's  and  the  following  one,  end- 
ing the  act,  advance  the  Plot  Action  rapidly.  It  is  much 
more  rapid  than  the  scenes  in  the  second  part  of  the  first 
act  up  to  the  time  of  the  entrance  of  Wellborn,  for  there 
the  Plot  Action  really  begins  in  earnest.  Now  we  see  the 
outlines  of  the  play;  the  minor  Action  has  carried  it  well 
and  almost  alone,  but  now  the  Plot  Action  is  strengthened 
and  illuminated  with  the  details  of  the  minor  Action  also. 
You  can  see  the  footprints  of  the  Plot.  It  is  good  Action 
at  the  close  of  the  second  act  when  we  see  that  Sir  Giles 
discredits  Marrall's  story  and  beats  him  for  his  supposed 
lies.  We  know  that  Marrall  has  told  the  truth.  That  alone 
goes  far  to  constitute  Action.  It  is  not  so  much  that  we 
anticipate  the  result  of  Marrall's  resentment.  We  may  or 
may  not  suspect  that  it  will  have  something  to  do  with 
the  Plot.  Marrall's  aside  gives  a  little  promise  on  which 
to  hang  some  expectation,  but  we  are  particularly  inter- 
ested in  what  will  be  the  effect  on  Sir  Giles  of  his  discovery 
of  the  truth.  Will  he  be  duped  as  Marrall  has  been?  With 
the  third  act  begins  a  new  development  in  the  Plot  Action, 
Allworth's  plan  to  get  Margaret  with  the  assistance  of 
Lord  Lovell.  The  Action  of  the  scene  may  be  measured 
always  by  the  object  of  the  scene.  The  Action,  then,  in  the 
scene  between  Lovell  and  Allworth  is  perfect,  full  of  vi- 
bration and  accomplishing  some  definite  progress  in  the 
general  Action.    We  are  now  so  well  committed  to  a  visible 


THE  ACTION  OI'  A  PLAY  145 

Plot  that  its  progress  cannot  fail  to  interest  us,  and  Mas- 
singer  holds  our  constant  attention.  We  may  have  doubted 
some  of  the  earlier  Action,  some  of  the  Dialogue,  before  all 
the  issues  had  been  joined,  but  after  the  Action  of  the  Plot 
is  once  in  motion,  and  to  the  end  of  the  play,  there  can  be 
no  disputing  its  effectiveness. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


UNITY. 

Dramatic  UnitV  is  the  conformation  of  Proposition,  Plqt^ 
and  Action.  ^ 

You  must  have  perceived  by  this  time  that  a  law  of  Unity- 
runs  through  a  play,  each  principle  in  a  play  and  each  part 
of  a  play  being  distinct  in  itself,  but  with  relations  to  the 
other  principles  and  parts.  At  the  very  outset  the  Theme 
demanded  Unity.  You  considered  the  Proposition  and  saw 
that  it  must  be  ONE  thing,  one  definite  thing,  so  that  when 
asked  what  your  play  was  about  you  could  reply  briefly 
and  would  not  wander  off  into  a  multitude  of  Details.  You 
saw  that  each  act  was  about  one  thing,  each  scene  about 
one  thing,  and  that  each  step  was  a  development  toward 
one  given  end.  Following  this  out,  you  have  seen  that  a 
play  is  a  Unit  made  up  of  many  other  Units.  The  characters 
themselves  are  units,  consistent  in  themselves.  Unity,  then, 
is  the  cohesive  force.  ^  It  means  that  a  play  must  have  its 
centre  of  gravity,  the  centre  of  a  circle,  with  the  Theme  at 
its  circumference.  Technically,  dramatic  Unity  is  the  con- 
formation of  Proposition,  Plot  and  Action.  It  is  suscepti- 
ble of  scientific  proof,  by  means  of  this  law.  If  you  will 
now  refer  to  the  first  chapter  of  "The  Technique"  you  will 
find  that  part  of  the  very  definition  of  a  drama  which  defines 
or  implies  Unity.  Aristotle's  fragment  of  the  art  of  the 
drama  is  wonderfully  clear,  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  his  defini- 
tion of  the  drama,  slightly  added  to  in  "The  Technique," 
really  comprehends  the  whole  art.  Ponder  that  definition 
well.  It  cannot  be  understood  at  once.  It  does  not  involve, 
on  the  surface,  many  things  which  will  have  to  be  learned 
through  toil  and  experience.  But  in  the  words  "a  com- 
plete Action"  you  have  a  test  of  Unity,  a  constant  monitor 
and  a  safe  guide.  You  are  now  to  make  a  close,  careful 
and  repeated  study  of  everything  contained  in  these  pages 


UNITY  147 

and  to  apply  the  principles  to  plays,  by  way  of  analysis,  in 
order  to  confirm  you  in  a  religious  belief  in  and  acceptance 
of  the  principles.  Not  to  accept  Unity  is  to  remain  a  pagan, 
in  other  words,  an  amateur  and  believe  in  many  gods  and 
not  to  be  a  wise  and  creative  artist  and  believe  in  only 
ONE!  We  will  not  go  deeper  into  this  subject  now,  for 
the  illustrations  are  sufficient,  and  you  will  find  the  actual 
thing  itself  in  examining  not  only  these  plays,  but  all  good 
and  successful  plays  ever  written.  It  is  the  general  princi- 
ple that  you  are  to  understand  at  first.  To  apply  that- prin- 
ciple is  not  always  easy.  Man  is  prone  to  evil,  and  you 
will  at  first  find  it  hard  to  keep  the  faith,  to  stick  to  one 
thing,  to  reduce  to  Unity.  But  we  have  shown  you  that  to 
reduce  to  Unity  is  absolutely  essential  as  the  first  real  step 
in  thinking  of  your  play,  in  considering  the  material,  and 
in  getting  it  into  shape.  You  may  find  that  you  may  often 
have  to  reject  much,  much  that  may  seem  precious  to  you, 
in  order  to  bring  about  Unity.  You  are  not  through  with 
Unity  until  you  finish  the  play.  It  is  not  settled  by  obtain- 
ing any  one  Unity,  for  there  are  many  Unities  to  consult. 
Does  your  play  have  a  Beginning,  a  Middle  and  an  End? 
It  cannot  begin  nowhere  and  end  nowhere,  nor  can  it  begin 
somewhere  and  end  nowhere  or  at  a  somewhere  that  the 
Action  did  not  start  for.  It  is  useless  to  say  that  this  is 
obvious  and  implies  an  absurdity.  Many  plays,  professional 
as  well  as  amateur,  accomplish  this  absurdity.  This  cannot 
well  be  illustrated  from  the  plays  that  we  are  considering, 
but  we  shall  reach  work  in  which  we  will  have  to  contend 
with  this  very  tendency  toward  Disunity.  In  extending  our 
examination  to  principles  we  shall  encounter  misapplied 
principle  and  shall  find  examples  of  what  is  not  Unity.  It  is 
sufficient  for  the  present  to  see  wherein  Unity  consists 
and  how  it  is  secured.  Faults  of  a  minor  kind  may  be  dis- 
covered in  these  plays,  but  not  faults  of  Disunity.  We  shall 
have  much  to  do  with  the  principle  of  Unity  in  our  future 
work.  It  would  seem  to  be  a  most  simple  and  natural 
principle  with  every  honest  worker,  but  it  is  a  very  tech- 


148  ANALYSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI,e: 

riical  principle,  and  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  who  does 
not  understand  it  technically  to  be  honest  with  himself, 
his  subject  or  his  public. 

We  ascertain  the  Unity  of  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  by 
noting  that  it  has  a  definite  and  correct  Proposition,  that  it 
has  a  Plot  which  develops  and  carries  out  this  Proposition, 
the  acts  being  so  divided  as  to  afford  the  proper  point  of 
progression,  the  scenes  still  further  dividing  it  for  the 
Action;  Proposition,  Plot  and  Scenes  and  Action  being 
about  one  thing  in  their  respective  activities;  the  whole 
exemplifying  Unity.  The  process  is  easy  to  see,  the  Unity 
first  being  secured  by  means  of  structure  and  then  con- 
firmed at  every  step.  Nothing  is  done  that  does  not  bear 
on  the  progressive  and  consistent  development  of  the  Ac- 
tion; all  the  happenings  and  all  the  characters  having  the 
proper  consistency  toward  a  given  end.  Without  this 
Unity  the  play  would  not  interest,  and  would  not  be  suc- 
cessful. It  is  not  a  Unity  in  one  thing  only,  but  a  Unity  in 
all  things.  It  is  impossible  to  point  out  Disunity  in  a  play 
like  this,  consequently,  we  can  only  see  wherein  the  Unity 
consists.  We  might  devise  means  whereby  Disunity  could 
be  introduced.  We  can  find  Disunity  in  perfection  in  ama- 
teur plays.  Amateurs  are  experts  at  it.  It  is  obvious  that 
if  the  Proposition,  Plot  and  Action  were  not  in  conformity 
there  would  be  no  complete  Unity.  The  Unity,  then,  must 
be  specific  and  not  merely  general.  If  it  had  only  Unity 
of  Theme,  Love  and  Pride,  it  would  not  necessarily  be  a 
play  at  all.  But,  in  working  out  the  play,  Bulwer  could 
have  departed  from  the  Unity  of  his  Theme,  and  introduced 
too  much  about  the  Revolution  and  war,  and  thus  have 
destroyed  the  Unity  at  the  very  source  of  the  play.  He 
could  have  made  it  about  one  thing  at  the  beginning,  and 
about  another  thing  at  the  end.  This  Unity  has  to  be 
effected  by  the  use  of  all  the  principles,  else  it  would  not 
be  dramatic  Unity,  although  it  might  be  some  other  kind 
of  Unity.  We  must  get  acquainted,  then,  with  all  the  prin- 
ples  and  their  combinations,  whereby  we  shall  learn  that 


UNITY  149 

Unity  in  its  fullness  and  down  to  the  last  detail  is  influ- 
enced by  the  bearing  of  one  principle  on  another. 

"Camille"  naturally  has  Unity  of  Theme,  for  Dumas  was 
very  much  in  earnest  in  his  convictions  and  views  of  life 
and  knew  his  subject  thoroughly.  But  to  be  "all  about" 
the  Theme  would  not  necessarily  make  it  a  play  and  cer- 
tainly would  not  necessarily  impart  that  Unity  of  form 
which  is  essential  in  a  play.  Of  course  in  a  genuine  drama 
the  Theme  takes  care  of  the  play  and  the  play  takes  care 
of  the  Theme.  Unity  must  exist,  but  if  the  play  had  only 
Unity  of  Theme  as  the  one  thing  w^hich  it  was  about  it 
might  fall  into  an  indefinite  definite  something  or  a  definite 
indefinite  something  because  of  lack  of  form.  The  drama 
is  definite  throughout  or  nothing.  The  Unity  of  this  play 
is  proved  by  three  things,  above  all,  conformity  of  Propo- 
sition, Plot  and  Action.  Wherever  it  has  incidents  of  a 
casual  kind  and  Episodes  they  are  necessarily  structural 
according  to  our  rule  of  the  nature  of  Action.  Refer  to 
the  pages  on  Proposition  and  Plot  and  Action  in  "Camille" 
and  you  will  find  the  Unity  designated  and  proved. 
/~;^' Any  departure  from  the  set  Proposition  would  impair  or 
/  destroy  the  Unity.  The  Proposition  requires  that  Camille 
make  the  sacrifice  of  herself  because  of  love  for  Armand ; 
consequently,  if  she  did  not  love  Armand,  but  was  mer- 
cenary when  called  on  to  make  the  sacrifice,  and  did  it  for  a 
price;  or  if  she  wanted  to  throw  the  responsibility  on 
Armand,  keep  up  appearances  with  Duval,  and  not  really 
keep  faith  with  Duval,  and  contrive  to  have  Nanine  ex- 
plain the  situation  to  Armand,  that  would  not  have  been  in 
conformity  with  the "  Proposition  and  Plot  at  all.  If  the 
play  did  not  have  a  single  main  proposition,  with  its  sub- 
ordinate supplementary  Proposition,  with  all  the  minor 
Propositions  held  in  check,  with  the  result  that  it  had  no 
main  Proposition  whatever,  there  could  be  no  consistent 
progressive  Action,  which  is  one  aspect  of  Unity.  If  it 
had  several  main  or  equal  Propositions,  all  pulling  in  direc- 
tions more  or  less  divergent,  there  would  be  no  Unity.    We 


150  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

could  disintegrate  the  main  Action  or  the  Unity  by  assum- 
ing the  following  state  of  affairs  required  to  be  worked  out 
in  an  Action :  Camille  and  Olimpe  will  both  try  to  cajole  or 
dupe  the  rich  Varville  out  of  a  large  sum  of  money.  Let 
Camille  be  really  in  love  with  Gaston  and  try  to  get  him 
away  from  Nichette.  Let  Armand  begin  by  loving  Camille, 
but  be  gradually  attracted  to  Nichette  and  finally  marry 
her.  Have  Camille  seek  to  convince  Armand  of  her  love 
and  to  make  the  sacrifice,  believing  that  Armand  will  then 
surely  marry  her  and  rehabilitate  her.  You  may  say  that 
this  would  lead  to  another  play  and  that  a  Unity  might 
be  contrived  out  of  it.  Very  true,  but  it  proves  that  each 
play  must  have  its  own  Unity  and  may  reject  any  part 
of  the  Unity  of  another  play  even  though  the  characters 
be  nominally  the  same.  Why,  in  this  play,  could  not 
Olimpe  try  her  wiles  on  Varville  ?  He  is  not  really  in  love 
with  Camille.  You  could  devise  any  number  of  complica- 
tions, if  complications  in  themselves  made  drama  without 
regard  to  Unity.  The  characters,  if  permitted  to  do  every- 
thing or  anything  they  might  do,  would  soon  destroy  Unity. 
In  the  supposed  case  above,  the  audience  would  be  first 
interested  in  one  Proposition  and  then  in  another,  never 
holding  to  the  ONE.  You  may  say  that  this  confusion 
could  not  have  occurred  with  the  Material  of  this  play. 
Certainly  not  with  Dumas;  but  an  amateur  could  have 
brought  it  about.  He  does  such  things  every  day.  In  fact, 
if  he  does  not  understand  the  necessity  and  nature  and 
value  of  Proposition  he  cannot  avoid,  except  by  accident, 
\the  commission  of  such  cardinal  sins.  Olimpe  would  lead 
him  astray  in  some  way.  The  Unity  of  Theme  held  Dumas 
to  truth.  If  you  were  writing  the  play  and  had  no  sincere 
appreciation  of  the  Theme,  or  did  not  understand  the 
Theme  in  its  full  significance,  your  play  would  not  be  the 
same  play.  We  have  elsewhere  shown  how  the  Unity  of  im- 
pression could  be  destroyed  by  converting  the  Action  into 
Story.  A  wrong  Sequence  or  Effects  before  Causes  would 
have  the  same  result.  You  might  use  exactly  the  same  Mate- 


UNITY  151 

rial,  but  convey  it  in  Story  fashion,  and  you  would  effect  a 
lack  of  dramatic  Unity.  As  we  proceed,  the  arrangement  and 
management  of  treatment  of  the  Material  would  decide  the 
Dramatic  Unity.  We  have  said  that  the  test  of  Unity  is 
the  conformity  of  Proposition,  Plot  and  Action.  Now,  a 
Plot  cannot  exist  without  Cause  and  Effect  in  proper  Se- 
quence. You  might  have  all  the  parts  of  a  watch,  all  the 
large  and  small  wheels,  but  if  you  cannot  put  them  to- 
gether so  that  they  will  fit  into  each  other  and  form  a 
working  arrangement,  where  is  your  Unity?  Does  this 
statement  sound  academic  to  you  or  practical?  As  with 
a  serviceable  watch,  so  it  is  with  a  living  play.  Unity  of\ 
character  will  be  discussed  under  its  proper  head;  but  it/ 
may  be  observed  that  mere  Unity  of  Character  is  not/ 
enough,  for  that  Unity  is  governed  by  the  Plot  and  the/ 
consequent  function  of  the  Character.  We  have  selectedy 
Olimpe  as  the  one  character  in  the  play  which  would  in- 
vite an  inexperienced  author  to  a  much  larger  use  of  it 
than  Dumas  has  exercised.  The  first  thing  to  get  is  the 
structural  Unity,  but  the  observance  of  the  Unities  is 
obligatory  down  to  the  last  detail.  You  get  things  right 
at  the  start,  and  keep  on  getting  them  right.  .  In  other 
words,  it  may  be  said  of  Unity,  as  of  every  other  principle, 
that  we  secure  it  first  in  the  structure  and  by  working  from 
the  general  to  the  particular.  Unity  may  be  destroyed  by 
a  disobedience  of  any  principle.  Suppose  we  were  led  to 
believe  in  the  opening  of  the  play  that  Varville's  suit  did 
thrive  and  soon  discovered  that  it  did  not.  The  Unity  of 
idea  would  be  broken,  would  it  not?  A  false  Sequence 
would  lead  us  to  believe  one  thing  and  then  inform  us  of 
the  contrary,  would  it  not?  If  we  had  not  been  straight- 
way told  that  Camille  is  indifferent  to  men,  and  if  we  had 
not  heard  the  history  which  accounts  for  it,  we  might  have 
formed  any  idea  we  chose  as  to  her  state  of  mind,  and  if 
an  audience  can  have  any  number,  if  only  two,  possible 
ideas,  there  is  no  Unity  in  the  mind  of  the  audience,  al- 
though the  hidden  facts  may  be  perfectly  consistent.    It  is 


152  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.E 

hard  work  to  imagine  and  contrive  disunity  in  a  play  which 
has  its  Unity  so  marked  as  has  "Camille."  Our  most 
profitable  study  would  be  with  plays  in  which  Unity  is 
actually  lacking  in  Plot,  Proposition,  Character  or  what 
not.  Still,  as  an  exercise,  we  may  essay  some  of  this  trans- 
lation of  Unity  into  Disunity.  Mark  the  point  that  we  have 
made,  that  Unity  depends  upon  the  effect  upon  the  audi- 
ence. You  will  remember  that  Action,  in  its  last  analysis, 
has  been  traced  down  to  that  final  arbitration  and  test. 
Suppose  we  destroy  the  Unexpectedness  of  the  coming  of 
Duval.  Wherein  would  the  Unity  be  affected?  If  Camille 
or  Armand  had  known  that  this  ordeal  was  in  store,  the 
scene  between  the  two  lovers  would  have  been  impossible. 
If  the  audience  had  also  known,  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible ;  there  could  have  been  no  concentration  of  interest 
on  previous  scenes,  and  concentration  of  interest  is  in  itself 
Unity. 

If  a  scene  is  uninteresting  because  the  audience  is  inter- 
ested in  something  else,  where  is  the  Unity  of  attention? 
Let  Camille  and  Armand  both  join  in  the  gayety  of  the 
supper,  and  the  Unity  would  be  broken.  There  is  no  Unity 
in  a  broken  chain. 

The  Unity  of  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep,"  like  that  of  any 
other  play  and  of  all  plays,  is  determined  by  its  Proposition, 
Plot  and  Action.  We  have  seen  that  Proposition  and  Plot 
may  be  given  in  a  few  words.  To  merely  describe  or  give 
an  outline  of  the  Action  requires  many  words,  and  to  carry 
out  the  Action  requires  every  word  in  the  play.  It  may  not 
be  an  exact  illustration,  but  it  is  practically  the  case,  that 
the  Proposition  stands  in  the  background,  like  a  point  in 
the  horizon  which  remains  stationary  as  you  speed  along; 
the  Plot  is  in  the  middle  distance,  where  the  developments 
afford  changing  pictures,  and  the  Action  is  in  the  imme- 
diate foreground,  changing  every  moment.  The  most  sig- 
nificant thing  about  the  dramatic  is  FORM,  not  intensity. 
And  so  with  Unity,  it  depends  more  upon  FORM  than  it 
does  upon  the  prevalence  of  any  one   element;   in  other 


UNITY  153 

words,  it  is  the  union,  the  oneness,  of  all  the  elements. 
Structural  Unity  a  play  must  have.  Our  work  has  accus- 
tomed us  to  the  method  of  obtaining  structural  Unity  in 
that  we  divide  the  Plot  into  Acts  and  Scenes.  The  Scenario 
establishes  the  details  of  that  structure.  Unity  of  character 
or  of  anything  else  helps  not  a  whit  if  this  structural  Unity 
is  lacking.  Unity  of  Theme  is  a  mere  illusion,  form  lack- 
ing. The  Unity  of  Story,  in  the  sense  of  a  novel  or  narra- 
tive, avails  nothing.  There  must  be  form,  dramatic  FORM. 
The  further  we  go  back  the  more  fatal  a  defect  is  as  to 
Unity.  One  mistake  in  the  Proposition  is  more  destructive 
than  a  hundred  small  ones  in  the  Action ;  and  that  one  mis- 
take breeds  myriads  of  mistakes,  like  some  fast-spreading, 
deadly  microbe.  It  is  the  germ  of  iniquity  and  the  source 
of  putrefaction.  In  calculating  distances  in  astronomy  the 
angles  and  lines  used,  are  called  a  parallax.  It  is  obvious 
that  if  the  angle  at  the  starting  point  of  the  computation 
is  too  large  you  will  be  millions  of  miles  away  from  the 
answer  or  solution  when  you  get  through  figuring  up.  You 
will  be  far  away  in  space  demonstrating  a  lie.  In  like  man- 
ner, if  you  begin  to  depart  from  the  truth  of  Unity  in  the 
beginning  you  will  go  widely  astray.  Let  us  suppose  that 
you  somehow  make  it  a  question  as  to  whether  Mildmay 
or  Hawksley  forged  the  bill;  that  the  shrewd  Hawksley 
tried  to  make  it  appear  that  the  junior  partner  was  the 
guilty  one.  Why  not  make  a  fourth  act,  a  new  one,  to  fol- 
low the  present  third  act?  Here  is  a  chance  if  you  are  after 
complication  merely  or  mainly.  You  would  at  least  have 
to  go  back  and  change  the  Proposition ;  and  thereafter  very 
little  of  the  present  play  would  remain.  Those  who  talk 
loosely  and  glibly  about  letting  the  characters  do  as  they 
please  and  write  the  play,  if  they  really  understood  the 
drama,  cannot  mean  what  they  say  to  the  logical  extent 
implied.  The  Unity  of  the  possible  play  just  indicated 
could  not  be  the  Unity  of  the  present  play.  The  characters 
would  have  to  be  different  and  have  a  different  Unity. 
Thus,  the  Unity  of  the  play  can  be  referred  back  to  the 


154  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

Unity  of  the  Proposition;  and  you  might  have  a  Proposi- 
tion with  perfect  Unity  and  then  destroy  the  JUnity  of  the 
play  by  destroying  the  Unity  of  the  Plot. /"The  Plot  should 
carry  out  the  Proposition.  Now,  if  Potter  should  take  his 
daughter  in  hand  and  convince  her  of  Mildmay's  superior- 
ity or  of  her  duty  without  reference  to  Mildmay's  superior- 
ity over  Hawksley,  Mildmay  would  still  regain  his  wife's 
confidence  and  love  by  what  he  does,  but  not  in  the  way 
required  by  the  Proposition.  The  structural  Unity  of  the 
play  was  further  obtained  or  confirmed  by  the  arrangement 
of  the  Plot  into  Acts  and  Scenes.  If  there  is  a  link  missing 
there  is  as  much  absence  of  Unity  as  there  would  be  in  a 
chain  with  a  missing  link.  Leave  out  Mrs.  Sternhold's 
thirteen  letters,  and  she  would  never  have  been  convinced 
of  Mildmay's  resolute  character,  for  she  would  have  given 
all  the  credit  for  the  exposure  of  Hawksley  to  Gimlet.  The 
Plot  would  have  been  defective. 

"A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  carries  out  a 
double  Proposition,  in  which,  however,  there  is  Unity,  and 
which  sustains  our  interest  in  a  number  of  Actions  all  so 
woven  together  that  it  becomes  one  fabric.  The  Unity  of 
it  would  have  been  greatly  impaired  by  any  disproportion 
in  the  use  of  any  one  of  the  three  Actions.  It  is  only  in 
the  very  last  act  that  Lord  Lovell  and  Lady  Allworth  come 
together,  in  discussing  affairs,  so  as  to  form  any  definite 
Plot  as  concerns  them.  They  fall  together  naturally.  There 
has  never  been  any  obstacle  between  them  to  be  overcome 
by  struggle  and  necessary  to  be  set  forth  in  the  detail.  As 
said,  in  speaking  of  their  relations  to  the  Plot,  their  per- 
sonal relations  do  not  belong  to  the  Plot  of  the  play  itself, 
except  in  an  incidental  way.  If  you  had  made  them  jealous 
of  each  other,  the  Unity  of  the  Plot  would  have  been  de- 
stroyed. In  fact,  if  anything  more  than  has  been  done  had 
been  made  of  their  personal  relations,  the  Unity  would 
have  been  vastly  impaired.  We  have  shown  that  Episode 
and  incidental  Action  do  not  destroy  Unity.  Justice  Greedy 
is  as  integral  a  part  of  this  play  as  any  other  character  in 


UNITY  155 

it.  There  is  a  complete  conformity  of  Proposition,  Plot 
and  Action  in  this  play,  consequently,  its  Unity  is  perfect. 
We  can  only  conjecture  what  might  have  impaired  its 
Unity.  If  Sir  Giles  had  set  his  heart  on  marrying  the 
widow,  there  might  have  been  many  additional  complica- 
tions, and  a  Unity  might  have  been  secured  in  it  all,  but  it 
would  have  been  the  Unity  of  some  other  play.  The  Pro- 
position does  not  call  for  his  continued  pursuit  of  Lady 
Allworth.  If  a  woman  had  been  introduced  into  the  Ac- 
tion in  order  to  have  some  one  to  bestow  on  Wellborn 
as  a  sentimental  compensation,  some  kind  of  Unity  might 
have  been  obtained,  but  it  would  not  have  been  the  Unity 
of  this  play.  You  might  have  had  him  in  love  with  the 
widow,  too.  But  the  Unity  of  impression  desired  was  to 
come  from  a  concentration  of  the  efforts  of  the  characters 
combined  against  Sir  Giles.  In  the  early  part  of  the  play 
there  are  several  breaks  in  the  continuity  of  the  Plot  Action 
apparently,  but  it  is  a  kind  of  disunity  that  soon  cures 
itself.  Much  of  this  comes  from  the  old  freedom  in  the 
shifting  of  scenes  of  locality.  But  having  more  Unity  in 
the  scenery  does  not  necessarily  give  more  Unity  to  the 
Action. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


SEQUENCE. 

One  of  the  most  important  distinctions  between  the 
dramatic  and  mere  story  telling  is  the  Sequence  of  happen- 
ings and  ideas.  The  drama  has  an  idiom — an  arrangement 
of  its  own.  It  is  what,  in  grammar,  is  called  collocation. 
You  cannot  claim  to  speak  any  language  foreign  to  your 
own  and  with  a  different  collocation  until  you  are  perfectly 
familiar  with  the  arrangement  of  words  in  a  sentence  in 
that  language.  We  encounter  this  difficulty  less  in  the 
French,  more  in  the  German,  and  to  a  marked  degree  in 
the  Latin.  The  following  sentence  is  entirely  natural  to  us 
in  its  arrangement  of  the  words  and  ideas:  *'Mithridates, 
King  of  twenty-two  nations,  pronounced  judicial  decisions 
in  as  many  languages."  The  Latin  arrangement  would  be : 
**Mithridates,  of  two  and  twenty  nations  king,  in  as  many 
languages  judicial  decisions  pronounced."  You  will  have 
to  become  reconciled  to  the  idiomatic  arrangement  of  ideas 
and  facts  in  the  drama,  just  as  you  have  to  in  learning 
Latin  or  any  foreign  language.  Just  as  the  sway  of  Action 
and  Unity  runs  entirely  through  the  drama  so  does  Se- 
quence. In  every  step  of  our  work  so  far  we  have  been 
treading  over  the  ground  of  Sequence.  The  Division  into 
Acts — their  Sequences — had  to  be  effective  or  the  play 
would  have  failed — or  succeeded  imperfectly.  Do  not  im- 
agine that  the  author  of  any  of  the  successful  plays  which 
you  may  have  read  found  his  Sequence  without  more  or 
less  thought.  The  proper  Sequence  of  the  acts  may  have 
given  him  little  trouble,  although  this  Sequence  of  the  acts 
may  be  found  wrong  even  after  the  completion  of  the  man- 
uscript. One  who  has  had  experience  in  revising  the  manu- 
scripts of  amateurs  often  finds  it  necessary  to  transpose 
the  acts.  Macready  once  transposed  the  last  act  of  a  play — 
which  had  not  been  successful — and  made  it  the  first  act, 


SEQU^NC^  157 

thus  securing  the  triumph  of  a  long  disused  drama.  When 
you  get  to  the  arrangement  of  the  Sequence  of  the  scenes 
the  difficulties  become  more  numerous,  and  even  in  the 
writing  of  a  scene,  care  must  be  taken,  as  we  shall  more 
fully  and  definitely  see,  in  adjusting  each  idea  and  every 
word  to  its  proper  relative  position.  It  depends,  of  course, 
upon  the  material  and  the  purpose  of  the  author  what  the 
Sequence  shall  be,  and  he  could,  in  certain  cases,  reach  the 
same  results  by  a  different  Sequence  here  and  there,  but 
given  the  same  story  to  tell  in  dramatic  form  all  real  drama- 
tists would  make  use  of  the  same  Sequence,  differing  only 
according  to  nicety  of  art  and  temperament.  Refer  now  to 
the  Plpt_o^f  Ingornar,  as  supplied  to  you,  and  note  how  one 
thing  grows  out  of  another.  /Now,  Cause  produces  Effect. 
The  Cause  should  not  be  given  after  an  Effect,  for  that 
would  be  explaining  the  Effect,  and  that  is  not  dramatic. 
You  have  to  make  certain  facts  clear  before  a  succeeding 
scene  will  count,  at  all,  otherwise,  you  rob  it  of  its  true 
effectiveness.  Transpose  the  scene  between  Polydor  and 
Parthenia,  where  she  refuses  him ;  that  is,  make  the  fourth 
scene  the  first,  and  you  will  get  into  difficulties  at  once.  It 
would  be  plumped  in  without  any  explanation  of  her  state 
of  mind  toward  him  or  of  her  state  of  life,  its  Action  would 
be  feeble  compared  to  what  it  is  now ;  for  now  we  know 
that  she  has  refused  her  mother  and  that  she  has  made  up 
her  mind  to  drive  a  bargain  with  him.  This  interests  us 
very  much.  As  it  stands,  we  have  become  interested  in  the 
girl,  knowing  the  conditions  and  her  spirit,  the  mood  in 
which  she  receives  him,  and  many  facts  that  have  been  un- 
folded in  the  three  preceding  scenes  which  have  cleared 
the  ground  for  the  Action  of  the  scene.  In  this  way  you 
make  everything  Self-explanatory.  That  is  to  say,  you  sup- 
ply everything  that  it  is  essential  for  the  audience  to  know 
so  as  to  understand  the  development  of  the  Action  before 
-its  eyes^l  And  this  "Everything  that  is  essential"  may  be  one 
single  thing  or  many  things,  which  if  reserved  in 
your  own  mind  would  defeat  your  purpose.     Begin  now  to 


158  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

attach  definite  ideas  to  all  terms  that  are  used.  Some  of 
them  have  been  withheld  at  times  so  as  to  save  confusion  or 
unclarity  of  ideas  while  you  were  gaining  the  gist  of  some 
principle — one  thing  at  a  time.  When  we  come  to  con- 
structive work  you  will  be  able  to  understand  the  discus- 
sion necessary.  Thus,  you  will  see  how  important  an  ad- 
junct to  the  Action  itself  Sequence  is.  You  can  run  a  play 
backwards,  and  you  will  find  it  a  Sequence  of  results  and 
causes.  Take  the  first  act  of  Parthenia;  she  goes  to  offer 
herself  as  hostage  for  her  father;  why?  Because  her  father 
is  captive  there.  What  of  that?  They  demand  ransom. 
What  of  that?  He  cannot  raise  it;  why?  Because  the 
neighbors  will  not  or  cannot  give  it  to  her.  No  one?  No; 
she  appeals  to  Polydor — who  is  Polydor?  A  suitor  for  her 
hand,  who  seeks  revenge  on  her.  For  what?  Because  she 
rejected  him?  Why?  Because  he  was  a  miserable 
miser,  old  and  unsuited  to  her  age.  Why,  then,  should 
she  not  have  rejected  Polydor?  and  without  concern?  Be- 
cause her  parents,  her  mother,  urged  her.  Why?  Because 
they  were  poor  and  he  was  rich.  The  Sequence  should  be 
made  out  more  closely  than  this,  but  it  is  sufficient  to  show 
that  a  play — worked  out  backwards  or  forwards — will  show 
this  result  of  Sequences.  The  thing  is  to  get  them  in  their 
right  order,  otherwise  you  will  not  have  the  Action  of 
drama,  but  a  mere  story  or  narrative.  Surely,  if  you  have 
given  any  attention  to  the  study  of  rhetoric  you  must  un- 
derstand the  importance  of  Sequence  in  prose  composition ; 
but  in  the  drama  it  is  of  multiplied  more  importance.  And 
this  importance,  as  with  the  other  principles,  extends  to 
every  particle  of  a  drama,  to  the  words,  to  two  words,  some- 
times. Adam,  in  "As  You  Like  It,"  is  described  as  "an  old, 
poor  man;"  "poor,  old  man,"  would  not  have  suited  the 
nicety  of  Shakespeare's  meaning.  So,  you  see,  you  have  to 
look  out  for  a  great  many  things  in  playwriting,  but  they 
will  not  be  burdensome  to  you  in  the  application  of  your 
art  when  you  know  how  to  apply  it ;  on  the  contrary,  a  plea- 
sure.   Now  make  a  study  of  the  plays  in  hand  with  refer- 


SEQUENCE  159 

ence  to  the  Sequence  in  them.  See  if  you  can  make  a  dif- 
ferent arrangement  here  and  there  and  preserve  the  design 
of  the  author ;  see  if  you  can  better  anything  by  a  different 
arrangement ;  and  note  the  effect  of  changing  the  Sequence. 
Go  into  the  arrangement  of  the  ideas  and  happenings  within 
the  Scenes  and  then  into  the  arrangement  of  the  Scenes 
with  reference  to  themselves  for  the  purpose  of  the  Plot. 
Do  not  go  faster  than  you  learn ;  be  diligent  and  patient. 
Learn  to  work  now,  too,  for  real  work  is  ahead  when  the 
Constructive  exercises  begin. 

Sequence  and  Cause  and  Effect  are  distinct  principles 
although  their  application  often  coincides.  It  is  necessary 
that  we  treat  them  separately.  Let  us  examine  "The  Lady 
of  Lyons"  to  see  how  the  principle  of  proper  Sequence  has 
been  observed.  Each  act  here  has  its  proper  Se- 
quence; and  each  scene  and  each  idea  in  its  order 
in  the  sentences  was  subjected  to  the  law  of  Sequence. 
First  we  have  it  that  Pauline  is  rich  and  proud.  Observe 
that  not  a  word  is  said  about  the  gardener's  son  or  of  his 
love  for  Pauline  until  the  Landlord  speaks  of  it,  on  page  11. 
In  the  form  of  Conditions  Precedent,  the  facts  existed  in 
Bulwer's  mind,  did  they  not?  The  amateur  with  the  same 
raw  material  would  have  been  impatient  to  introduce  the 
character,  by  reference  at  least,  much  earlier.  Merely  ob- 
serve that  the  Sequence  here  is  arranged  as  it  is,  that  all 
information  is  withheld  up  to  the  point  indicated.  Sequence 
involves  the  proper  placing  of  ideas  and  facts  only  when 
and  where  they  are  needed.  That  is  something  to  note  in 
making  the  analysis  of  a  play.  Why  is  nothing  said  of 
Damas's  experience  in  the  army  earlier  than  page  21  in 
the  second  act?  It  would  have  been  out  of  place,  or,  at 
least,  ineffective  elsewhere ;  its  time  had  not  come.  Cause 
and  Effect,  which  we  shall  next  take  up,  is  a  kind  of  Se- 
quence; but  we  must  distinguish,  as  we  have  just  done,  in 
order  to  get  a  scientific  basis  and  to  extract  points  of  value 
in  playmaking.  Everything  in  this  play  is  in  its  proper 
Sequence,  but  it  took  labor  to  get  it  so.    The  work  began 


l60  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

with  the  Plot,  and  then  continued  through  the  fixing  of  the 
Sequence  of  the  acts  and  of  the  scenes.  Analysis  enables 
you  to  read  all  plays  with  profit.  You  can  thereby  learn 
from  them  the  niceties  of  an  author's  art.  In  this  matter  of 
Sequence  you  will  observe  that  some  fact  comes  up  for  the 
first  time.  Your  attention  being  thus  directed  to  it,  natu- 
rally you  enquire  why  the  author  did  not  introduce  it  soon- 
er and  your  investigation  results  in  profit.  Such  analysis 
by  way  of  observation  is  sufficient.  It  would  be  well,  how- 
ever, to  note  on  the  margin  of  the  plays  you  read  what  you 
discover.  For  instance — why  did  not  Melnotte  sooner  de- 
mand the  release  from  his  oath? 

It  was  not  until  after  his  interview  with  Pauline,  and  he 
had  seen  that  the  effect  of  his  lie  about  his  rank  and  his  pal- 
ace was  to  leave  her  in  a  state  of  molten  love,  that  he  real- 
ized that  his  love  for  her  was  so  great  as  to  make  him  re- 
gret his  bargain.  With  the  realization  came  the  prickings 
of  conscience,  forbidding  him  to  carry  the  deception  fur- 
ther, and  forcing  him  to  ask  to  be  released.  Why  does  not 
the  duel  between  Damas  and  Melnotte  take  place  sooner? 
Bulwer  had  determined  that  there  should  be  such  a  scene. 
He  had  to  consider  it  and  fix  upon  the  proper  place  for  it. 
He  put  it  in  its  proper  place  in  the  Sequence,  if  for  no  other 
reasons  than  it  leaves  Damas  upon  the  scene  to  become 
convinced  of  the  love  of  the  two  young  people,  at  the  close 
of  the  act,  and  to  bring  the  act  itself  to  its  close,  with  him 
as  Melnotte's  friend.  The  duel  was  necessary  in  order  to 
reconcile  him  fully  to  Melnotte,  through  that  peculiar 
friendship  which,  when  he  fights  another,  comes  to  the 
man  who  loves  combat.  The  monologue  of  the  widow, 
page  32,  is  another  example  of  proper  Sequence. 

Why  could  it  not  have  been  brought  out  later  that  the 
widow  was  ignorant  of  Claude's  deception?  Why  could 
not  the  monologue  be  omitted?  Why  should  she  not  enter 
by  the  stairway  and  greet  her  son  ?  Because  the  proper  Se- 
quence is  to  have  the  audience  know  her  character  first,  to 
see  her.    Leave  that  out  and  it  would  make  a  material  dif- 


SEQUENCE  l6l 

ference^  It  is  in  its  right  place.  All  that  she  says  in  the 
monologue  could  be  introduced  into  the  Dialogue  on  the 
next  page,  but  the  Dramatist  evidently  thought  that  by  in- 
troducing it  in  that  way  he  would  interrupt  the  natural  Se- 
quence of  ideas  in  the  situation  on  that  page.  He  was  fol- 
lowing a  method  that  is  now,  for  the  most  part,  in  disuse. 
In  the  present  exercises  we  are  turning  our  attention  to 
discovering  as  many  aspects  of  a  principle  as  we  can  in 
these  particular  plays.  It  is  only  after  we  have  gained  an 
understanding  of  the  structure  of  a  play  that  we  have  free- 
dom in  such  an  investigation.  Of  course,  your  first  task 
is  to  discover  and  point  out  the  best  examples  of  a  prin- 
ciple and  as  many  of  them  as  you  can.  But  we  are  now 
also  to  concern  ourselves  with  Constructive  and  Destruc- 
tive analysis.  Sequence  is  of  such  universal  and  constant 
use  in  a  play  and  in  playwriting  that  we  not  only  see  it  exer- 
cised but  must  exercise  it  in  a  specific  way  with  other 
specific  principles  and  methods.  Thus,  we  have  seen  that 
the  decisive  principle  in  the  Plot  is  Cause  and  Effect  and 
that  Sequence  is  sometimes  identical  with  it;  consequently, 
we  now  only  refer  to  the  chapter  on  Cause  and  Effect  in 
the  Plot  for  an  understanding  of  its  function  there.  The 
Sequence  of  scenes  is  also  another  aspect  of  the  principle.  The 
Sequence  of  words  in  the  Dialogue  belongs  to  Dialogue. 
We  shall  find  it  profitable,  then,  to  confine  our  investiga- 
tion to  that  Sequence  of  ideas  which  we  are  compelled  to 
determine  upon  when  we  are  considering  the  material 
itself  of  a  play.  We  want  to  get  at  the  living  principle 
just  as  it  is  exercised.  Finding  the  material  of  a  play  is  a 
distinct  process,  and  in  it  we  do  not  concern  ourselves  par- 
ticularly about  Sequence.  We  know  that  we  can  use.  cer- 
tain Facts  and  certain  data.  In  a  way,  the  material  is  in- 
choate. Order  is  brought  out  of  it  only  after  deliberation, 
and  when  we  apply  Sequence  to  the  ideas  collected.  There 
are  certain  Conditions  Precedent  which  must  be  introduced 
somewhere.  We  know  that  they  can  be  introduced  only  inci- 
II 


l62  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

dentally,  and  we  must  create  the  occasion  for  their  use. 
They  are  the  facts  and  conditions  upon  which  the  Action 
is  based,  and  we  retain  them  without  regard,  at  first,  to 
where  they  are  to  be  introduced.  Of  course,  from  time  to 
time,  we  see  the  proper  place  for  them,  or  approximately 
where  we  could  use  them.  We  may  in  our  notes  assign 
even  a  turn  of  expression  to  a  definite  scene.  A  practical 
method  of  work  is,  after  making  your  general  notes,  to 
distribute  these  notes  on  fresh  sheets  of  paper  among  the 
acts  to  which  they  respectively  belong.  Sometimes  a  scene 
or  even  an  entire  act  will  take  possession  of  an  author,  and 
his  accumulation  of  notes  will  bear  on  that  Act  or  that  scene, 
leaving  no  difficulty  as  to  the  order  in  which  they  will  be 
used,  except  in  the  matter  of  detail.  If  we  get  the  larger 
Sequences  first,  of  the  acts,  for  instance,  it  becomes  easier 
to  assign  the  ideas  in  your  notes.  The  structure  once  pro- 
vided for,  many  points  have  to  be  introduced  incidentally 
in  the  right  place.  Camille's  mode  of  feverish  life  is  finally 
to  kill  her.  Merely  to  have  her  die  of  consumption  would  be 
an  exceedingly  disagreeable  idea.  She  really  dies  of  broken 
heart,  the  result  of  her  sacrifice.  Her  malady  is  spiritual 
as  well  as  physical.  Dumas  did  not  choose  to  carry  out 
to  its  logical  moral  his  philosophy  of  the  right  of  such  a 
w^oman  to  live  and  to  be  united  happily  with  the  man  she 
loves;  so  that  while  he  provided  his  Proposition,  he  made 
a  successful  compromise  with  inexorable  social  prejudice. 
It  is  obvious,  then,  that  the  idea  of  her  physical  weakness 
should  not  be  urged  too  early  or  too  strongly.  It  is  brought 
out  by  a  light  touch,  a  slight  cough.  Nothing  has  been  said 
about  it  in  the  first  three  scenes,  nothing  by  Nanine  when 
she  gives  an  account  of  her  life.  We  are  prepared  for  her 
physical  frailty  by  what  has  been  said  of  the  illness  which 
caused  her  to  visit  the  waters  of  Bagneres.  If  her 
present  state  of  health  had  been  discussed  in  the  opening 
Scenes,  it  would  have  made  the  idea  disproportionately 
prominent.  It  becomes  prominent  later  on  as  a  matter  of 
development  or  Sequence.     That   Madam    Prudence   is   a 


SEJQU^NCE  163 

gourmand  is  kept  to  enliven  the  supper.  What  earthly 
weight  would  it  have  had  if  introduced  earlier.  There  was 
no  need  of  showing  Prudence's  propensity  to  borrow  mo- 
ney until  the  second  act.  We  have  heard  before  this  that 
"she  is  a  good  soul  with  a  heart  as  light  as  her  purse." 
It  is  essential  to  introduce  in  the  first  act  that  Varville  is 
rich  and  willing  to  pay  Camille's  debts.  The  fact  that 
Gustave  is  a  lawyer  did  not  require  emphasis  in  any  part 
of  the  play,  except  in  the  scene  where  Nichette  and  he,  with 
Camille,  laugh  over  the  misadventures  in  his  practice.  That 
was  the  right  place  and  the  only  place  for  it.  If  the  idea 
had  been  emphasized  or  had  even  been  made  to  appear  any- 
where else  it  might  have  been  misleading,  in  having  us  ex- 
pect something  to  come  from  his  Character  as  a  lawyer.  At 
any  rate,  the  fact  in  itself  has  no  significance.  It  is  only 
the  humor  derived  from  it  in  a  single  scene  which  has  any 
value.  The  notable  Sequence  in  Camille  is  largely  struc- 
tural, with  reference  to  the  Plot.  There  are  other  plays 
that  will  afford  a  better  opportunity  to  study  the  difficulties 
and  alternative  possibilities  of  Sequence.  We  have  seen 
enough  to  realize  that  Sequence  is  an  active  principle,  that 
it  begins  working  even  in  the  darkness,  while  the  Material 
is  being  collected,  and  when  light  is  reached  it  is  a  domi- 
nant activity  or  mental  process  until  some  other  activity 
takes  its  place,  but,  in  a  way,  always  existent;  in  the  com- 
plete work  absolutely  essential. 

derstand  Sequence;  the  general  principle  perhaps  you  do. 
Its  meaning  is  apparently  very  plain,  things  following  in 
their  proper  order ;  but  you  must  understand  it  anew  when- 
ever your  mind  operates  upon  your  Material.  The  mere 
word  or  definition  has  no  cabalistic  power.  A  general  knowl- 
edge of  the  principles  in  itself  accomplishes  nothing.  Each 
matter  of  Sequence  requires  specific  management.  One 
may  try  innumerable  Sequences  in  various  parts  of  the 
structure  of  the  play,  including  the  Dialogue,  before  get- 
ting the  right  Sequence.  Perhaps  there  is  nothing  in  the 
art  which  requires  more  tentative  work,  more  transposition, 


l64  ANAI.YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE: 

more  balancing  of  events.  We  begin  to  have  to  do  with 
Sequence  v^ith  the  Proposition.  We  encounter  it  again  in 
connection  v^^ith  the  inexorable  law  of  Cause  and  Effect  in 
the  Plot.  We  grapple  with  it  again  in  arranging  the  order 
of  the  Acts ;  it  confronts  us  again  in  our  arrangement  of  the 
order  of  the  Scenes,  and  so  on  down  to  the  last  syllable. 
Inasmuch  as  Sequence  in  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  has 
been  discussed  in  its  relation  with  the  various  other  princi- 
ples and  methods,  it  is  enough  now  that  we  discuss  it  in  a 
general  way.  We  may  note  some  aspects  of  it  which  have 
not  been  pointed  out  elsewhere.  We  are  getting  now  past 
definitions  and  close  to  the  active  properties  of  living  prin- 
ciples. The  dramatist  gathers  his  Material  for  his  play,  and 
it  is  no  discredit  to  him  or  lack  of  art  in  the  mind  of  him 
that  this  Material  is  as  inchoate  as  was  the  void  out  of 
which  the  world  was  made  "in  the  beginning."  It  is  possi- 
ble that  the  main  Sequence  of  your  play  may  find  itself  im- 
mediately. A  Plot  with  its  Sequence  may  suggest  itself  at 
once,  but  you  are  not  yet  done  with  Sequence,  by  any 
means.  There  are  a  thousand  Sequences  to  find.  It  may 
be  that  Taylor,  when  he  began  to  gather  his  Material  for 
"Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  saw  first  the  scene  between  Mild- 
may  and  Hawksley  in  which  the  shares  are  taken  back  and 
the  letters  returned.  In  other  words,  he  saw  the  middle  of 
his  play ;  he  recognized  it  as  the  middle  of  his  play.  He  may 
have  dimly  felt  the  beginning  of  the  play  as  it  is  now. 
The  play  reaches  its  consistency  by  shooting  off  Se- 
quences from  definite  points.  The  mind,  in  dealing  with 
its  Material,  is  constantly  assigning  places  for  its 
use.  From  what  has  just  been  said,  it  is  obvious 
that  the  principle  or  method  involved  in  the  chap- 
ter on  Material  is  properly  made  a  distinct  one  for  your 
study  and  exercise.  One  may  spend  a  year,  at  least,  in 
gathering  his  Material.  We  may  assume  that,  in  his  Ma- 
terial, Taylor  figured  Mrs.  Sternhold  to  himself  as  sharp 
in  temper  and  impatient  of  contradiction.  Where  was  he 
to  introduce  this  trait  distinctly  and  to  the  best  advantage? 


SEQUENCE  165 


Of  course,  we  see  her  asperity  in  the  first  lines  which  she 
utters.  Her  impatience  of  contradiction  is  suggested 
throughout  the  first  scene,  but  it  becomes  very  definite 
when  we  see  Potter's  apologetic  manner  toward  her,  when 
he  says,  "Well,  but  sister — "  She  forbids  discussion.  In 
the  scene  between  her  and  Potter,  it  has  stronger  ex- 
pression: "Nonsense,  brother!  I  don't  wish  for  any  dis- 
cussion; I  only  want  an  answer,  yes  or  no."  The  drama- 
tist finds  occasion  as  well  as  place  for  everything.  In  his 
Material,  the  dramatist  had  the  thirteen  letters.  He  may 
have  had  to  ponder  long  before  he  determined  at  what 
point  to  bring  out  the  fact  of  their  existence.  Wisely,  at 
last,  he  brought  it  out  actively  and  not  passively,  in  a 
scene  in  which  these  letters  furnish  a  startling  surprise 
and  an  astonishing  turn  to  the  Action.  If  the  play  had 
begun  by  a  discussion  of  Hawksley,  his  character,  his  for- 
mer attentions  to  Emily,  and  his  present  financial  scheme, 
we  would  have  lost  the  quiet  humor  of  the  first  scene, 
and  difficulty  would  have  been  had  in  demonstrating  Mild- 
may's  patience.  Sequence  is  of  importance  always,  ,  but 
after  you  have  overcome  its  demands  as  to  the  structure  of 
a  play,  all  else  becomes  comparatively  easy.  It  would  be 
good  exercise  if  you  should  destroy  the  Sequence  in  this 
play  at  various  points  and  then  note  the  difficulties  that  will 
ensue.  Mildmay  had  two  objects  in  visiting  Hawksley,  the 
one  to  have  Hawksley  take  up  the  shares,  and  the  other 
to  force  him  to  return  Mrs.  Sternhold's  letters.  The  Se- 
quence is  that  Mildmay  finally  announces  the  object,  first 
the  one  and  then  the  other,  saying  that  he  had  taken  mea- 
sures to  compel  Hawksley  to  grant  both  demands.  He  then 
reveals  Hawksley's  criminal  history  as  to  the  forging  of 
one  of  the  bills,  and  the  promise  to  surrender  the  bill 
brings  Hawksley  to  terms  on  both  Propositions.  The  Se- 
quence might  have  been  the  procuring  of  the  return  of  the 
money  for  the  shares,  and  then,  or,  just  as  the  exchange 
was  about  to  be  made,  the  demand  also  for  the  letters.    It 


l66  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

is  possible  that  this  slight  rearrangement  would  not  de- 
stroy the  strength  of  the  Action,  and  might  give  a  moment 
of  additional  surprise.  It  is  a  matter  of  treatment.  The 
Unity  of  the  two  objects  which  brought  Mildmay  there 
is  perhaps  better  preserved  as  it  stands.  It  certainly  gives 
a  turn  to  the  Dialogue  which  keeps  in  mind  all  the  time 
Mildmay's  whole  case,  and  consequently  sustains  the  Pro- 
position of  the  play  itself. 

In  the  other  plays  so  far,  we  have  given  our  attention  to 
Sequence  mainly  to  see  how  effective  the  proper  arrange- 
ment of  ideas  and  happenings  is,  and  also  to  discover  what 
would  be  the  effect  of  disarrangement.  We  begin  to  be  con- 
cerned with  Sequence  as  an  active  principle  from  the  mo- 
ment we  begin  to  accumulate  Material  and  to  develop  a 
central  idea.  The  Sequence  of  Cause  and  Effect  in  the  Plot 
is  so  exacting  that  really  the  proper  place  to  treat  it  pro- 
fitably is  under  the  head  of  Plot.  We  will  assume  that 
Massinger,  in  *'A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,"  had  made 
a  careful  study  of  his  principal  character.  Sir  Giles ;  that  the 
other  characters  necessary  to  the  Plot  in  which  Sir  Giles 
would  be  the  principal  figure  came  at  his  bidding,  and  that 
he  had  thought  of  many  characteristics  of  the  people  and  of 
many  incidents  before  he  determined  upon  his  Plot  in  de- 
tail. We  may  assume  that  he  had  fixed  upon  a  scene  in 
which  he  would  show  Wellborn  as  an  outcast.  It  seems 
so  natural  that  this  should  be  the  first  scene  that  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  it  placed  anywhere  else  in  the  play. 
The  play  is  such  a  good  one  humanly  and  technically  that 
it  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  different  Sequence  of  the  scenes 
from  that  which  exists;  still,  so  many  Sequences  are  pos- 
sible that  it  is  not  at  all  certain  that  he  did  not  deliberate 
long  over  its  place,  as  he  must  have  done  over  some  of  the 
arrangements  of  other  scenes  and  ideas.  It  is  exactly  right 
as  it  is.  It  strikes  the  right  note  on  the  first  touch  of  the 
instrument.  You  will  observe  that  this  is  the  case  with 
all  the  plays  that  we  have  undertaken  to  analyze;  but  it 
is  not  at  all  certain  that  each  author  discovered  what  his 


SEQUENCE)  167 

first  note  should  be  without  having  played  a  bar  or  two 
wrongly  conceived.  In  short,  the  proper  Sequence  is  not 
necessarily  the  first  one  that  occurs  to  you.  Inasmuch  as 
we  have  Sequence  in  Plot,  Sequence  of  Acts,  Sequence  of 
Scenes,  Sequence  in  Dialogue  and  finally  that  general  Se- 
quence which  must  be  consulted  in  the  use  of  ideas  or 
even  significant  bits  here  and  there,  it  is  not  easy  to  anal- 
yze this  play  in  a  way  detached  from  the  various  parts  of 
it  indicated  in  the  preceding  sentence;  consequently,  we 
shall  treat  of  its  Sequence  in  a  general  way.  We  shall  note 
those  points  which  are  helpful  in  the  study  of  the  principle. 
We  observe  first  that  the  dramatist  does  not  immediately 
let  us  know  that  Tapwell  and  Froth  are  driving  from  the 
house  a  vagabond  who  was  once  their  master.  The  circum- 
stances of  a  play  might  require  such  a  fact  to  be  made 
known  at  the  very  outset,  but  that  is  not  the  desirable  Se- 
quence of  ideas  here.  Massinger  makes  us  see  Wellborn  at 
the  lowest  point  of  his  degradation.  We  have  no  sympa- 
thy with  him  whatever.  It  is  a  very  important  thing  to  get 
an  idea  before  an  audience  distinctly  and  unhampered  by 
other  ideas  of  equal  importance  and  not  to  subordinate  the 
main  idea.  One  idea  at  a  time  is  the  law.  We  have  seen 
that  this  law  holds  with  reference  to  the  objects  of  scenes, 
and  when  we  triturate  it  down  into  the  Dialogue  the  same 
law  holds.  One  idea  at  a  time.  The  proper  place 
for  our  learning  in  what  way  Tapwell  is  an  un- 
thankful villain  is  after  we  have  seen  him  unthank- 
ful. The  proper  place  to  bring  out  what  he  is 
unthankful  for  is  after  we  have  seen  that  which  proves 
the  charge  of  unthankfulness,  and  later  on,  in  proper  Se- 
quence come  the  details  of  the  gift.  The  quarrel  had  to  be, 
in  order  to  bring  out  the  facts  in  the  Dialogue.  At  the  end 
of  the  quarrel  come  the  blows.  In  introducing  the  fact  that 
Allworth  is  in  love  with  Margaret,  Massinger  provided  the 
occasion  by  having  Wellborn,  in  return  for  the  kindness 
of  Allworth,  give  him  well  meant  advice.  The  introduction 
of  the  fact  of  the  love  affair  is  made  possible  by  a  scene 


l68  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

which  has  for  its  object  something  else.  Massinger  is  very- 
careful  not  to  have  Wellborn  reveal  his  plans  in  this  scene. 
The  time  has  not  arrived  for  him  to  disclose  them  from  a 
technical  point  of  view.  Massinger's  art  is  plainly  visible 
in  this.  If  Wellborn  had  disclosed  what  he  intended  to  do 
in  his  attempt  to  retrieve  his  fortune,  it  would  have  been 
over-preparation.  Very  well,  the  technical  knowledge  of 
the  principle  of  Preparation,  its  use  and  misuse,  could  guide 
an  author  in  a  similar  moment  of  his  Action,  but  an  appre- 
ciation of  right  Sequence  could  also  serve  him.  It  is  ob- 
vious that  the  Plot  is  best  served  by  introducing  us  next, 
in  the  second  scene  of  the  Act,  to  Lady  Allworth's  home 
and  household.  We  might  enquire  here  why  could  not 
the  scene  between  Marrall  and  Sir  Giles,  which  opens 
the  second  act,  follow  the  scene  between  Allworth  and 
Wellborn?  It  would  entertain  and  would  have  a  bearing  on 
what  we  have  just  seen.  Of  course,  it  is  so  arranged  now 
that  it  fits  into  that  part  of  the  play  where  it  stands,  but 
we  assume  it  to  be  very  probable  that  this  talk  between 
Marrall  and  Sir  Giles  may  have  presented  itself  to  Mas- 
singer  as  an  independent  scene,  and  that  it  and  other  inde- 
pendent scenes  had  finally  to  be  assembled  like  the  parts 
of  a  machine.  It  is  certainly  entirely  legitimate  to  imagine 
and  determine  on  and  even  to  write  scenes  before  their 
functional  use  or  place  in  the  mechanism  is  fixed.  The 
scene  of  the  second  act  ending  with  the  determination  of  Sir 
Giles  to  prevent  his  nephew  from  ever  rising  again  could 
certainly  be  used  in  the  first  act.  Of  course,  it  would 
have  to  be  changed  to  some  extent  in  order  to  make  it  fit 
the  proposed  Sequence;  but  depend  upon  it,  in  the  writing 
of  any  play  one  has  to  hesitate  constantly  as  to  where  he 
will  place  a  scene,  and,  indeed,  has  even  to  transpose  a  scene 
from  where  he  has  placed  it.  No  unfavorable  criticism 
can  be  made  of  the  present  Sequence.  Lady  Allworth's 
state  has  first  to  be  shown,  but  observe  that  no  material  is 
wasted,  for  the  servants  who  show  her  state  are  needed  to 
bring  out   first   the   apparent   helplessness   of  Wellborn's 


SEQUENCE  169 

quest,  which  presently  takes  a  favorable  turn,  the  Sequence 
of  events  leading  to  the  complete  success  of  Wellborn's 
scheme,  in  so  far  as  the  favor  of  Lady  AUworth  is  con- 
cerned. The  scenes  have  carried  along  the  Action  of  the 
play  with  a  splendid  stride,  but  every  foot  of  the  ground  is 
covered  as  to  detail.  For  a  long  time  on  the  English  stage, 
it  was  thought  indispensable  to  have  a  distinct  sub-plot, 
and  to  work  out  the  stories  connected  with  each  character 
into  rounded  out  perfection.  This  is  good  art,  but  there 
has  been  a  growing  disposition  to  break  away,  to  a  large 
extent,  from  the  complete  worked  out  sub-plot.  This  play 
has  a  number  of  subordinate  Plots  which  may  be  described 
as  sub-plots.  In  seeking  scientific  accuracy,  it  is  a  little 
difficult  to  reduce  the  general  plot  of  this  play  to  its  main 
Plot.  The  Plot  element  of  the  drama  is  discussed  in  an- 
other place.  Attention  is  here  called  to  the  management  of 
the  various  Plots,  in  order  to  emphasize  the  important  func- 
tions of  Sequence.  Without  a  nice  exercise  of  Sequence, 
the  Plots  would  have  fallen  into  inextricable  confusion.  A 
distinct  beginning  is  first  made  with  the  Plot  as  it  concerns 
Wellborn,  then  the  Plot,  or  added  Sub-Plot,  as  it  concerns 
Allworth  and  Margaret  is  taken  up,  and  then  follows,  and  is 
easily  solved,  the  sub-plot  of  the  union  of  Lord  Lovell  and 
Lady  Allworth.  The  ambition  and  effort  of  Sir  Giles  to 
marry  Margaret  to  Lord  Lovell  has  also  the  distinctness  of 
sub-plot  and  becomes  the  dominant  plot  of  the  play  as 
the  end  is  reached.  It  may  seem  that  Sir  Giles's  plans  as 
to  Margaret  and  Lord  Lovell  are  not  mentioned  at  all  in 
the  first  act.  It  is  true  that  Wellborn  in  his  talk  with  All- 
worth  warns  him  against  the  hopelessness  of  continuing 
his  suit  for  Margaret,  for,  as  he  says,  Sir  Giles,  "to  make 
her  great  in  swelling  titles,  without  touch  of  conscience 
will  cut  his  neighbor's  throat."  It  is  enough  at  this  point 
to  convey  a  general  idea.  It  is  excellent  Preparation.  We 
get  the  one  fact  of  Sir  Giles's  ambition,  which  is  enough. 
If  either  Wellborn  or  Allworth  had  told  of  the  specific  de- 
sign of  Sir  Giles,  it  would  have  been  adding  another  fact, 


170  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLi; 

out  of  proper  Sequence,  to  no  avail.  It  would  have  given 
the  audience  too  much  to  think  about  at  the  time.  The  im- 
proper Sequence  and  multiplicity  of  idea  would  have 
brought  about  needless  complication.  It  is  time  enough  at 
the  close  of  the  first  scene  in  the  second  act  to  have  Sir 
Giles's  definite  ambition  brought  out,  not,  as  it  would  have 
been  in  the  scene  in  the  first  act  referred  to,  at  second  hand^ 
but  at  first  hand.  At  the  end  of  the  second  act,  in  its 
proper  Sequence,  there  is  another  definite  idea  brought 
out  which  would  have  been  out  of  place  at  the  end  of  the 
first  scene  of  the  first  act,  namely,  that  Sir  Giles  expects 
Lord  Lovell  to  dine  with  him  tomorrow.  Now,  imagine 
all  these  things  jumbled  up  in  the  talk  between  Wellborn 
and  Allworth  in  the  first  act,  and  you  can  readily  see  how 
weak  would  have  been  the  effect  in  every  way.  It  is  the 
Sequence  that  gives  the  value,  or  even  makes  the  play 
possible  by  a  succession  of  ideas  and  events.  ^^ 


CHAPTER  XV. 


CAUSE  AND  EFFECT. 

"The  Lady  of  Lyons"  dwells  a  good  deal  on  states  of 
affairs  and,  while  there  is  full  adequacy  of  complication,  the 
Causes  and  Effects  which  are  essential  to  the  Plot  are  sim- 
ple. Pauline  is  proud  because  she  is  beautiful  and  has 
many  suitors;  her  mother  incites  her  to  marry  rank.  Why? 
Because  their  riches  have  been  gained  in  trade.  Beau- 
seant  seeks  her  because  he  loves  her  for  her  beauty;  and 
she  rejects  him  because  he  has  lost  his  title  in  the  upheaval 
and  levelling  of  the  Revolution ;  he  is  angered  because  of 
his  confidence  in  making  the  proposal,  and  because  of  the 
real  affront  to  a  man  above  her.  Because  he  is  a  blunt 
man  and  has  adopted  the  principles  of  the  Revolution, 
Damas  has  no  sympathy  with  the  silly  ambitions  of  mother 
and  daughter.  Because  of  the  fancied  insult,  Beauseant 
wishes  revenge;  because  Glavis  has  also  been  rejected  he 
joins  Beauseant  to  devise  some  plan  of  revenge.  Because 
they  hear  Melnotte  hailed  a  prince,  they  think  of  the  plan 
of  marrying  Pauline  to  a  pretended  Prince.  They  think  this 
is  feasible  because  he  is  represented  as  accomplished  and 
with  the  manners  of  the  well-born,  and  that  he  is  secretly 
in  love  with  Pauline.  Melnotte  has  sent  his  verses  to  Pau- 
line only  this  day,  because  he  has  seen  her  wearing  his 
anonymously  sent  flowers;  he  expects  a  favorable  reply 
because  he  thinks  she  will  forget  that  he  is  peasant  born, 
for  it  is  in  the  days  of  the  Revolution  and  desert  is  true 
rank;  he  wishes  revenge  because  of  the  insult  to  his  pride 
and  the  injury  and  contumely  to  his  servant  messenger. 
He  accepts  the  offer  in  Beauseant's  letter  because  the  op- 
portunity for  revenge  and  the  gratification  of  love  seem 
at  hand.  Melnotte  succeeds  in  winning  Pauline  because  of 
the  vanity  and  blind  ambition  of  the  women,  who  do  not 
doubt  his  genuineness  because  he  has  been  represented  as 


172  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

travelling  incognito  for  fear  of  the  Directory;  the  plotters 
have  furnished  him  v^^ith  funds  and  jewelry  because  Mel- 
notte  must  sustain  the  character ;  and  they  think  their  plot 
is  safe  because  Melnotte  is  bound  by  oath.  Damas  sus- 
pects because  he  sees  Beauseant  and  Glavis  remonstrating 
with  Melnotte  after  he  has  given  away  the  ring  and  the 
box;  he  tries  him  with  Italian  because  he  knows  the  lan- 
guage and  wants  to  test  him. ;  Melnotte  tells  Pauline  of  his 
palace  by  the  Lake  of  Como  because  he  would  test  her. 
Damas  becomes  Melnotte's  friend  because  one,  particularly 
a  soldier,  likes  a  man  after  having  fought  with  him  and 
because  he  must  be  a  man  of  honor  to  fence  so  well.  The 
marriage  is  hastened  because  of  the  letter  from  the  Direc- 
tory and  the  apparent  danger  to  Melnotte.  He  takes  her  to 
his  mother's  cottage  because  he  has  not  the  courage  to 
abandon  her  among  the  jeering  peasants  and  servants  at 
the  Inn.  She  begins  to  cease  to  hate  him  because  of  his 
explanation  and  proof  of  his  love;  he  gives  her  into  the 
hand  of  his  mother,  because  he  will  pursue  the  revenge  no 
further,  and  will  give  her  her  freedom.  Melnotte  will  now 
seek  to  redeem  himself  and  his  honor  in  the  wars  because 
he  has  lost  his  honor  and  because  the  opportunity  has  been 
offered  him  by  Damas,  or,  at  least,  the  idea  of  promotion 
suggested.  Pauline  thinks  better  of  Melnotte  because  of 
his  surrender  of  her  and  is  piqued  by  the  mother's  confi- 
dence that  her  son  could  marry  any  of  the  beauties. 
She  begins  to  feel  a  wifely  duty  and  love  because  of 
many  sensible  reflections.  She  repels  Beauseant  because 
she  hates  him  and  really  has  not  given  up  her  love  that 
was  won  by  Melnottee  in  his  assumed  character  and  which 
is  partly  confirmed  in  his  real  one.  Melnotte  refuses  her 
offer  to  remain  as  his  wife  because  he  must  redeem  him- 
self on  account  of  his  base  treachery.  Damas  takes  Mel- 
notte to  the  house  of  the  Deschappelles  because  he  has  ad- 
mission there  and  because  he  thinks  there  may  be  a  chance 
that  Pauline  may  still  love  Melnotte.  Pauline  is  to  marry 
Beauseant   because   he   will    save   her   father   from    bank- 


CAUSE  AND  EFFECT  173 

ruptcy;  Melnotte  does  not  speak  at  first  because  he  be- 
lieves that  she  is  doing  it  because  she  is  faithless.  He 
reveals  himself  finally  because  she  discovers  her  love  for 
him  and  he  pays  the  money  that  releases  her  and  her 
father.  Thus  by  running  the  Causes  forward  you  get  all 
the  Effects.  By  running  the  results  backward  you  may 
get  all  the  Causes,  proving  the  same  thing,  getting  the 
same  result  by  adding  up  the  line  from  bottom  to  top. 
Indeed,  there  is  a  reason  and  a  result  in  every  line  of  this 
play,  and  in  every  real  play.  These  Causes  and  Effects  lie 
in  the  material  and  its  arrangement;  they  are  inherent, 
and  while  it  is  not  a  question  of  mathematics,  the  results 
are  just  as  exact. 

Cause  and  Effect  extends  to  every  fibre  of  a  play,  and  is 
particularly  the  characteristic  of  Plot.  It  is  very  clear  in 
"Camille."  This  being  the  case,  let  us  take  up  some  other 
aspects  and  applications  of  the  principle.  By  means  of  it 
we  get  the  reason  why  of  everything.  We  obtain  that 
clarity  which  prevents  an  audience  from  "thinking,"  the 
Self-Explanatory.  We  do  not  need  to  see  the  full  extent 
of  every  Cause  at  once.  That  would,  for  that  matter,  be 
impossible,  but  we  do  see  enough  to  partly  answer  and  to 
excite  our  curiosity.  A  man  is  waiting.  For  whom?  Ca- 
mille.  Who  is  Camille?  The  mistress  of  the  house  no 
doubt,  for  Nanine  is  evidently  not,  but  a  servant.  Nichette 
enters.  Who  is  she?  What  does  she  come  for?  We  are 
soon  answered.  Varville  waits  for  something.  Nichette 
loves  Camille.  Why?  Because  of  the  goodness  of  her 
heart  and  an  unaffectedness  of  character  that  we  at  once 
divine.  Nichette  goes  because  Gustave  is  waiting  for  her. 
She  is  happy  in  a  single  love  because  she  is  wise,  sage. 
Varville's  suit  does  not  thrive  because  Camille  does  not 
love  him  "the  least  bit  in  the  world."  Varville  wonders  at 
her  strange  taste  in  enduring  the  visits  of  Monsieur  de 
Meuriac.  Why  does  she?  Because  he  has  befriended  her. 
Nanine  tells  Varville  the  story,  not  because  he  has  not 
heard  it  before,  but  because  he  does  not  believe  it,  and  she 


174  ANAIvYSIS   OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI^E 

urges  it  with  all  the  details.  True,  the  recital  is  required 
for  technical  reasons,  but  that  is  not  the  because  of  its 
telling.  And  Varville  did  not  know  all  the  story,  for 
Nanine  says :  "Ah,  sir,  you  would  have  pitied  her  had  you 
seen  her  efforts  to  please  the  world  in  which  the  Due  de 
Meuriac  sought  to  gain  her  a  position  \"  Camille  is  rude  to 
Varville  and  impatient  with  him  because  she  has  told  him 
a  hundred  times  not  to  importune  her.  She  is  irritated 
at  him  because  she  does  not  wish  to  have  her  liberty  in- 
truded on.  Gaston  and  Olimpe  come  in,  although  they  had 
just  parted  with  Camille,  because  Gaston  had  a  happy 
thought  in  passing  the  Cafe  de  Paris  to  order  some  fine 
oysters  and  a  basket  of  Champagne.  Olimpe  does  not 
know  that  Prudence  is  a  neighbor  and  in  consequence  ex- 
presses surprise.  Because  Camille  has  only  to  open  the 
window  to  call  Prudence,  she  does  so.  This  may  be  a  very 
small  "because,"  but  see  the  variety  it  gives  to  the  en- 
trance. Dumas  had  purpose  in  all  that  he  did,  much  of  it 
technical,  pure  and  simple.  Prudence  cannot  come  at  once 
because  she  is  detained  by  a  young  man  she  has  not  seen 
for  a  long  time.  Because  of  that  Camille  invites  her  to 
bring  him  along.  Because  she  wishes  the  fire  replenished, 
Camille  turns  to  Varville  because  he  is  sitting  at  the  fire- 
place, to  make  himself  useful  in  putting  on  some  wood. 
It  may  be  said  that  this  reasonableness  of  Business  and 
Dialogue  would  occur  to  any  writer.  But  not  so  unless  he 
reasoned  and  had  purpose  in  mind.  He  would  let  these 
things  happen  without  immediate  Cause  and  Effect.  He 
would  stumble  too  often.  He  would  have  Causes  without 
Effects  and  Effects  without  Causes.  He  would  not  join 
them  soon  enough.  They  would  exist  in  his  mind  perhaps, 
but  not  be  in  immediate  active  evidence.  There  is  also  a 
nicety  that  determines  those  things.  Would  you  or  I  not 
perhaps  have  had  Camille  ask  the  name  of  Prudence's 
friend  when  she  was  talking  from  the  window?  We  would 
possibly  have  been  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  communicate 
our  story  and  would  not  have  permitted  it  to  develop  itself 


CAUSE  AND  EFFECT  1/5 

in  the  better  way.  Dialogue  must  have  its  Cause  and  Effect, 
else  we  would  not  have  responsiveness.  Armand  speaks 
of  his  father  because  Gaston  speaks  of  him  first.  Gaston 
also  enquires  concerning  his  mother.  And  so  as  to  his 
sister,  Armand  replies  because  Gaston  suggests  that  Ar- 
mand is  an  only  child.  Do  you  not  see  how  Cause  and  Ef- 
fect operates  here  as  a  distinctly  better  thing  than  the 
direct  method  of  having  Armand  tell  at  once  on  slight  pro- 
vocation all  about  his  family?  He  could  have  said:  "Yes, 
M.  Duval  is  my  father.  He  is  still  living  at  Tours  with  my 
sister.  My  mother  has  been  dead  for  three  years."  The 
effect  upon  Camille  is  to  make  her  "begin  to  like"  Pru- 
dence's friend.  The  Cause  of  that  Effect  lies  not  only  in 
the  Facts  brought  out,  and  her  own  views  of  life,  but  also 
in  the  way  they  are  brought  out.  The  Effect  on  the  audi- 
ence is  also  stronger.  Causes  would  not  happen  so  appro- 
priately by  chance  as  to  relieve  an  author  of  reasoning  and 
of  providing  his  Causes.  (  He  wants  certain  results  and  he 
must  devise  Causes.)  Dumas  wanted  to  have  Armand  and 
Camille  alone.  Ho^  does  he  get  the  others  off?  By  rea- 
son of  her  spell  of  coughing  and  faintness.  "She  is  better 
alone  when  those  attacks  arrive,"  says  Prudence.  Camille 
has  also  asked  Gaston  to  step  into  the  other  room  and  take 
the  gentlemen  along  with  him  for  cigars,  saying  that  she 
would  soon  join  them,  and  in  an  aside  telling  the  ladies  to 
go  with  them.  Dumas  got  his  means  of  having  them  alone 
from  the  circumstances.  The  others  might  simply  have 
happened  to  go  out,  but  how  ineffective  would  have  been 
the  Cause.  In  this  interview  between  the  two,  if  the  Causes 
were  not  deep  laid  in  the  Conditions,  we  would  not  have 
enough  to  make  the  Dialogue.  He  loves  her,  she  likes 
him;  he  urges  his  love,  she  thinks  he  jests;  why  had  he 
never  told  her  of  it  before?  Because  he  had  not  known  her. 
Why  should  he  not  tell  his  love?  She  answers:  "Be- 
cause it  can  result  in  but  one  or  two  things:  First,  that 
I  will  not  believe  it,  or,  believing  it,  cause  you  to  wish  I 
never  had."     Because  she  doubts,  he  says,  "for  eternity." 

UNIVERSITY  ) 

OF  J 


FQ 


rh:^ 


176  ANAI.YSIS   O]^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

She  has  found  a  new  meaning  in  the  words.  She  intends 
to  go  to  the  country,  and  we  know  it  was  Armand's  sug- 
gestion. She  gets  the  money  from  the  Duke,  and  Armand 
reproves  her,  and  will  not  consent.  So  the  Action  moves 
along  on  the  lines  of  Cause  and  Effect,  not  only  in  mechan- 
ism, but  in  details,  j 

Cause  and  Effect  exists  in  dramatic  form  in  every  part  of 
a  good  play  and  it  is  associated  with  every  principle. 
Cause  and  Effect  in  the  Plot  of  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep" 
belongs  more  particularly  to  the  study  of  the  Plot.  There 
Cause  and  Effect  follow  in  strict  Sequence.  Probably  Cau- 
sation would  be  a  better  description  for  that  minor  Cause 
and  Effect  that  governs  the  details.  Thus,  when  the  cur- 
tain rises  we  see  a  condition  of  affairs,  the  effect  of  some- 
thing we  have  not  seen,  the  causes  being  unfolded  gradu- 
ally, until  we  rise  to  that  definite  and  organic  succession 
of  Causes  and  Effects  that  makes  the  play  move  and  form 
the  Plot.  In  the  first  scene  of  this  play,  we  get  the  condi- 
tion of  affairs  in  an  active  state.  Little  or  nothing  is  done 
or  effected.  No  absolutely  radical  change  in  the  relations 
of  the  characters  is  made.  Similar  scenes  have  been  en- 
acted often  before  in  this  household,  we  say  to  ourselves. 
Much  that  happens  is  to  affect  the  Action  later  on,  the  din- 
ner and  Mrs.  Sternhold'  opinion  of  Mildmay,  for  example. 
The  effect  of  Mrs.  Sternhold's  words  as  he  lies  asleep,  as 
she  thinks,  is  that  he  determines  to  punish  her  by  refusing 
to  understand  her  attempt  to  explain  her  troubles.  ,;In  the 
Causation  we  do  not  get  the  definite  Cause  alwayg  before 
the  Effect.  Thus  we  do  not  at  first  learn  that  Emily  is 
rude  to  her  husband,  and  dissatisfied  with  him  because  she 
is  sentimental  or  because  he  is  a  prosaic  person.  In  what 
way  he  is  prosaic  we  do  not  know  until  he  speaks  of  going 
to  earth  up  his  celery.  We  do  not  suspect  at  first  that  the 
chief  cause  of  his  discontent  is  that  she  has  fallen  under 
the  fascination  of  Hawksley.  But  Cause  and  Effect  is  very 
plain  in  what  happens.  He  wants  to  go  to  his  gardening 
because  he  does  not  seem  to  be  wanted  and  because  Emily 


CAUSE  AND  KFFECT  I77 

will  not  play.  He  remains  because  he  sees  that  he  will 
further  offend  his  unreasonable  wife  should  he  leave.  He 
is  a  peace  loving  man.  Emily  plays  for  her  aunt,  because 
she  is  perverse.  Mrs.  Sternhold  gives  her  opinion  of  Mild- 
may  because  she  thinks  he  is  asleep.  The  entire  Dialogue 
has  causation  in  its  responsiveness.  There  is  reason  for 
everything  that  is  said,  and  it  would  not  be  said  if  each 
point  were  not  led  up  to.  Mildmay  wants  the  dinner  alone 
with  Emily  because  it  is  the  anniversary  of  their  wedding 
and  because  the  aunt  is  a  disturbing  influence.  She  refuses 
because  her  aunt  has  appointed  the  day  for  a  dinner  at 
home.  He  goes  to  sleep,  apparently,  because  it  is  his  cus- 
tom, and  because  nothing  more  can  be  said  to  get  his  wife 
in  good  humor.  All  these  causes  lie  right  at  hand  and  are 
understood  at  once,  everything  being  Self-Explanatory.  He 
goes  out  because  he  is  awakened  rudely.  Taylor  even  pro- 
vides a  reason  why  Mildmay  has  not  told  Emily  that  he 
was  going  to  Manchester.  "Why  should  I?  I  shall  return 
by  the  express  tomorrow."  The  real  reason,  which  could 
not  be  conveyed  now,  is  that  he  could  not  confide  his  secret 
to  his  wife.  It  might  easily  be  said  that  there  would  be  a 
cause  for  the  exit  of  Mildmay  if  he  woke  up,  yawned  and 
said  that  he  was  going  to  earth  up  his  celery,  but  the  man- 
ner of  the  waking  is  better  caused.  More  of  the  Material 
or  conditions  are  used,  her  petulance,  the  patience  of  Mild- 
may, &c.  Suppose  the  whole  scene  between  Potter  and 
Mrs.  Sternhold  were  placid,  that  he  agreed  with  her  in 
everything,  there  would  be  a  cause  for  everything  that 
might  be  said,  but  it  would  be  too  uniform,  and  the  scene 
would  be  tiresome.  Potter  denies  that  what  he  proposes 
is  "stuff  and  nonsense,"  He  is  irritated  at  her  reference  to 
his  "death."  He  does  not  like  to  propose  the  matter  to  Mild- 
may. There  is  just  enough  of  give  and  take  to  fill  the 
scene  with  animation,  an  animation  that  comes  from  causa- 
tion. There  is  variety  in  the  causes  brought  to  the  surface 
by  the  discussion  between  them.  Then  we  have  the  reason 
for  his   saying  that  he  would  be  just  as  well  pleased  if 


178  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

Hawksley  did  not  visit  the  house  so  often.  We  do  not 
see  why  he  objects  until  he  explains.  All  this  could  have 
been  brought  out  story-fashion.  Causation  does  it  better. 
Potter  is  timid  and  uncertain  in  his  opinions.  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold,  on  the  other  hand,  is  one  who  is  resolute,  and  acts. 
The  cause  of  her  agitation  is  enough  for  the  moment;  it 
lies,  we  think,  at  the  time,  in  her  character.  We  do  not 
know  yet  that  she  is  moved  by  jealousy.  The  real  cause 
comes  to  the  surface^iater.  For  the  present,  in  this  analy- 
sis, let  us  rest  at  that:  that  the  mechanism  of  the  Action 
requires  its  causes  .w:heji_.  the  mechanism  of  the  Plot  for- 
bids the  relation  at  the  time  of  certain  definite  Causes. 

'**A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  is  as  solid  as  a  Roman 
arch  and  cemented  with  Cause  and  Effect.  We  shall  first 
consider  the  larger  Causes  and  Effects,  those  more  closely 
related  to  the  Plot  and  the  Action  immediately  connected 
with  it.  Sir  Giles  has  defrauded  Wellborn  of  his  heritage, 
but  he  himself  is  partly  to  blame,  for  he  has  spent  all  in 
riotous  living;  by  reason  of  which  he  is  reduced  to  want 
and  beggary ;  by  reason  of  this  he  is  turned  away  from  the 
inn  and  humiliated  by  the  innkeeper  who  owed  his  very 
house  to  him ;  because  of  the  sense  of  shame  he  determines 
to  redeem  himself;  his  friend,  AUworth,  because  Sir  Giles 
will  marry  Margaret  only  to  a  man  of  rank  and  wealth, 
determines  to  get  Lord  Lovell  to  help  him;  because  Well- 
born has  been  a  friend-in-need  of  her  husband.  Lady  All- 
worth  agrees  to  pretend  she  might  marry  him;  because  of 
being  taken  by  Wellborn  to  dine  with  Lady  AUworth,  Mar- 
rall  reports  to  Sir  Giles  the  sudden  change  in  Wellborn's 
fortunes,  and  because  Sir  Giles  believes  that  he  lies  he 
beats  him,  because  of  which  Marrall  determines  to  revenge 
himself  on  him  and  seek  reward  from  Wellborn;  because 
convinced  that  Lady  AUworth  is  to  marry  Wellborn,  Sir 
Giles  furnishes  him  with  money  to  pay  off  his  creditors; 
because  Lord  Lovell  pretends  to  be  a  suitor  for  Margaret, 
and  because  she  seems  to  be  content.  Sir  Giles  is  duped; 
and  because  he  is  duped  into  this  belief  he  sends  the  word 


CAUSE  AND  DFFEJOT  179 

to  the  curate  that  enables  Margaret  and  Allworth  to  marry ; 
because  he  thinks  the  real  marriage  of  which  he  hears  ru- 
mors is  between  Wellborn  and  Lady  Allworth,  he  demands 
the  return  of  money  advanced ;  because  so  advised  by  Mar- 
rail,  Wellborn  asks  for  the  deed,  which  when  produced  is 
found  razed  because  of  the  revenge  of  Marrall,  and  because 
of  the  double  defeat  of  his  schemes  as  to  Wellborn  and 
his  daughter  he  suddenly  goes  mad,  and  dies,  his  punish- 
ment being  complete  on  the  two  sides  of  his  nature,  the 
two  aims,  love  of  money  and  social  advancement  of  his 
daughter  that  filled  his  life.  To  enumerate  the  Cause  and 
Effect  Jn  the  Action  and  in  the  Dialogue  would  require 
pages.  I  Innumerable  Causes  and  Effects  are  obvious  and 
yet  minute.  Wellborn  asks  for  drink;  the  innkeeper  and 
wife  refuse ;  because  of  their  manner  in  doing'^o,  he  resents 
it  and  reminds  them  of  who  he  was  and  really  is;  because 
of  his  own  insolence  Tapwell  further  insults  him;  by  rea- 
son of  this  he  raises  his  cudgel  to  strike  him;  because  of 
which  Tapwell  threatens  him  with  the  bailiff;  and  because 
of  further  quarrel  Wellborn  reminds  him  of  the  gifts  he 
had  made  him;  and  because  Wellborn  speaks  of  Sir  John, 
Tapwell  describes  the  past  relations,  "But  since  you  talk 
of  father,  in  my  hope  it  will  torment  you,  Fll  briefly  tell 
your  story."  Why  does  Wellborn  listen  to  it?  He  is 
amazed  at  the  impudence  of  the  fellow;  but  he  has  hardly 
begun  before  he  says,  "Stop,  slave!  or  I  shall  lose  myself." 
When  Tapwell  continues  and  speaks  of  his  profligacy,  could 
not  Wellborn  have  ruminated  over  the  truth  of  it?  Or  ^^  #• 
could  he  not  have  been  moved  to  listen  to  the  unwonted 
volubility  of  his  old  servant  by  reason  of  what  he  shortly 
says,  "Some  curate  has  penned  this  invective,  mongrel?"  It 
is  not  so  difficult  for  a  dramatist  to  give  motives  to  his 
characters ;  the  art  is  to  bring  those  motives  into  Action  at 
the  right  time  and  in  their  right  order  so  as  to  make  that 
Action  fluent  and  pellucid.  If  you  give  the  Effect  before 
the  Cause,  it  would  still  be  Cause  and  Effect  so  far  as  the 
Material  is  concerned,  but  not  as  to  the  audience.     With 


l80  ANAIvYSIS   OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

reference  to  the  ultimate  story  it  would  still  be  Cause  and 
Effect,  but  not  with  reference  to  the  Action.  Some  illus- 
tration of  this  is  had  in  the  exercise  on  the  Self-Explana- 
tory.  We  are  never  in  doubt  in  this  play  why  people  do 
things.  If  we  do  not  get  the  full  reason  we  get  enough  for 
the  moment,  just  as  it  is  entirely  clear  to  us  why  Tapwell 
turns  Wellborn  out,  although  we  do  not  learn  at  the  mo- 
ment that  he  is  acting  under  instructions.  There  is  no 
direct  Cause  and  Effect  that  brings  Lord  Lovell  and  Lady 
Allworth  together,  at  least  nothing  in  the  requirements  of 
the  Proposition  and  Plot;  their  affairs  are  disposed  of  in 
the  single  scene  in  the  opening  of  the  fifth  act;  but  indi- 
rectly there  is  beautiful  Cause  and  Effect.  "Sweet  reason- 
ableness" is  an  almost  wornout  expression,  but  it  comes 
into  its  full  meaning  when  applied  here.  There  was  no 
obstacle  to  overcome  between  these  two;  their  union  was 
entirely  natural  and  was  brought  about  without  any  effort 
in  a  dramatic  way.  Massinger  was  profoundly  philosophi- 
cal and  knew  human  nature  to  its  depths.  Sir  Giles  was  not 
duped  by  the  machinations  of  others  alone.  As  Lord  Lovell 
says: 

"Hard  things  are  compassed  oft  by  easy  means. 
The  cunning  statesman,  that  believes  he  fathoms 
The  counsels  of  all  kingdoms  on  earth, 
Is  by  simplicity  oft  over-reached." 

Sir  Giles  duped  himself.  His  own  cunning  and  greed  and 
blindness  caused  his  own  downfall.  What  may  be  called 
minor  Cause  and  Effect  is  to  be  observed  in  the  conduct  of 
the  dialogue.  Everything  that  is  said  is  caused  by  some- 
thing, a  Cause  or  an  Effect,  thrusting  or  parrying,  or  what- 
ever may  be  required  at  the  moment.  Cause  and  Effect 
should  be  constant,^  otherwise  there  would  be  small  or  no 
Action.  There  must  be  immediate  Effect,  although  the 
remote  Effect  may  be  of  the  utmost  importance.  The  Ef- 
fect on  Sir  Giles  of  Marrall's  recital  of  his  feast  is  to  have 


CAUSi:  AND  EFFE^CT  l8l 

the  former  beat  him.  That  is  enough  for  the  moment.  The 
most  important  effect  is  the  betrayal  later  on.  It  was  abso- 
lutely essential  to  the  plot  that  he  should  get  this  beating; 
it  had  to  have  a  definite  Cause.  A  general  course  of  cruelty 
toward  Marrall  would  not  have  been  enough,  consequently,  f 
Massinger  has  the  Cause  to  grow  out  of  the  development  ' 
of  events.  ^,^^"'-^"^ 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


ACTION  (DRAMA)  IS  NOT  MERE  LIFE. 

'  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  the  student,  at  the 
very  outset,  rid  himself  of  the  idea  or  delusion  that  because 
he  sees  his  characters,  in  his  mind's  eye,  move  and  dance, 
and  laugh  and  weep,  and  otherwise  disport  themselves,  they 
necessarily  constitute  between  themselves  any  fraction  or 
part  of  a  play.  Their  Actions,  even  if  you  created  them 
man  and  woman,  might  fall  very  far  short  of  drama.  You 
cannot  have  failed  to  observe,  by  this  time,  that  the  drama 
has^laws^f  its  own;  it  is  a  distinct  thin^,  an  entity,  with 
organs,  such  as  Plot,  Scenes,  Action,  Sequence,  just  as  es- 
sential to  Its  being  as  are  your  own  heartj  ^rtpripg^  nprvp^^ 
to  your  own  entity  aad_£xistence.  It  has  as  muf^h  righ^  tn 
its  own  laws  as  Nature  has.  The  drarnaj3_an  ;^rt.if'<'i^l  ^"d 
yet  a  perfectly  natural  thing.  This  sounds  paradoxical, 
and  yet  it  is  perfectly  simple.  Life  is  as  vast  and  boundless 
as  the  sea.  A  dipper  filled  from  the  sea  had  as  well  be 
called  the  sea  as  two  hours  of  life  drawn  from  the  vastness 
of  existence  be  called  a  play.  Now,  this  does  not  mean  that 
Nature  is  opposed  to  art,  or  that  art  is  opposed  to  Nature. 
The  very  artificiality  of  the  drama  is  but  a  means  of  reduc- 
ing  your  Material  to  Life  The  drama,  a  play,  can  be  but 
a  part  of  life.  So  far  as  the  actual  playing  of  it  on  the  stage 
is  concerned  it  should  conform  exactly  to  life,  and  it  will 
require  all  your  skill  to  make  it  do  that.  The  significance 
of  what  is  here  said  will  come  to  you  only  with  experience. 
A  play  is  built  up  like  a  house,  out  of  Nature;  in  the  one 
case  out  of  Material  that  is  inanimate,  in  the  other  out  of 
material  that  is  active  and  alive.  Surely,  the  novel  deals 
with  life,  the  very  same  Material,  and  poems  likewise,  but 
they  are  often  wholly  unsusceptible  of  being  converted  into 
drama.  It  is  a  matter  of  form.  It  is  more  a  matter  of  form 
than  it  is  of  life ;  for  a  play  can  be  laid  in  the  clouds,  with 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT   MERK  LIFE  183 

its  characters  imaginary  creatures,  and  still  it  will  be  a 
play,  because  of  its  form.  But  life  when  used  for  the  pur- 
pose of  the  drama  cannot  be  without  dramatic  form.  The^ 
drama  is  a  form  of  expression  of  Life,  and  admits  Life  only 
under  its  own  conditions.  For  present  purposes  an  illus- 
tration outside  of  the  plays  in  hand  will  be  sufficient.  In 
the  Drama  of  ''Ben  Hur"  there  is  an  act  laid  in  the  Grove  of 
Daphne.  Ben  Hur  watches  the  festivities  and  the  dancing. 
Every  incident  in  it  might  have  occurred  in  life,  but  there  is 
a  momentary  lapse  in  the  continuity  of  the  Action.  If  we 
knew  that  he  were  in  search  of  the  man  who  had  robbed 
him  of  mother  and  sister  or  that  he  had  given  up  his  search 
for  information  about  his  lost  mother  and  sister,  and  that 
if  he  remained  a  witness  of  this  Scene  he  might  find  some 
clue,  it  would  be  more  dramatic ;  we  would  have  some- 
thing to  build  our  hopes  on,  for,  as  is  said  in  reference  to 
Action,  Action  is  rnade  up  of  the  hopes  and  expectations 
and  interest  of  the  audience.  Whenever  and  wherever  the 
Action  ceases  it  becomes  Mere  Life  and  ceases  to  be  drama, 
and  it  is  not  the  less  Life  when  it  is  and  becomes  Drama. 
In  real  Life  a  wife  would  weep  inconsolably  for  an  indefi- 
nite time  over  the  loss  of  a  loved  one,  but  in  a  play  it  would 
not  be  entertainment  to  listen  to  a  woman's  sobs  for  three 
hours.  Then,  if  you  recognize  that  Life  is  subject  to  the 
laws  of  the  drama  in  this  one  particular  case,  why  not 
make  it  subject  in  all  particulars?  In  the  plays  upon  which 
this  investigation  is  based  you  will  find  few  examples  of  a 
lapse  from  the  dramatic  into  Mere  Life.  Perhaps  you  may. 
Try  it.  When  you  reach  constructive  work,  when  you  be- 
gin working  on  plays  and  original  exercises,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, you  will  find  yourself  constantly  lapsing  into  Mere 
Life.  The  difference  between  Life  and  Drama,  is  very  lit- 
tle, but  that  little  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  It 
would  be  Life  if  a  young  man  talked  to  a  young  woman 
about  the  weather,  and  very  commonplace ;  but  if  the  audi- 
ence saw  before  he  met  her  that  he  intended  to  propose 
to  her  and  was  too  bashful  to  think  of  anything  but  the 


184  ANAI^YSIS   OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

weather,  it  would  become  dramatic.  Perhaps  a  better  way 
of  stating  what  is  meant  to  be  conveyed  by  this  is  : 
that  Mere  Life  is  not  necessarily  Action  or  Drama.  You 
will  observe  that  whenever  a  Scene  or  passage  in  a  play 
begins  (and  continues,  for  that  matter)  to  bore  you  it  is 
usually  because  the  Action  has  ceased  and  the  play  is  no 
longer  dramatic  in  the  technical  sense.  Why  is  it  that  the 
love  Scene  between  Claude  Melnotte  and  Pauline  where  he 
describes  his  palace  by  the  lake  to  which  he  would  take  her, 
if  he  had  his  wish,  is  not  Mere  Life?  It  could  have  hap- 
pened in  Life.  It  is  Life,  but  what  gives  it  its  interest? 
Remember  that  a  drama  requires  Action,  and  that  without 
it  it  is  Merg  Life ;  and  that  a  Drama  requires  Sequence,  a 
certain  arrangement  of  happenings,  doubt  as  to  the~ issue, 
obstacle,  and  various  other  definite  elements.  Drama  is 
lurking  all  about  us  in  real  life ;  we  see  it  and  experience  it 
every  day,  every  time  we  laugh,  or  cry  or  experience  a 
hope.  And  when  we  attempt  to  put  it  into  a  play  the 
Drama  welcomes  us,  but  with  a  stern  authority.  An  inex- 
perienced writer  can  so  arrange  his  Material,  innocently 
thinking  that  he  had  a  play,  that  there  would  not  be  a 
particle  of  drama  in  it.  And  yet,  as  said,  it  is  almost  impos- 
sible to  escape  Drama  in  real  Life,  for  Life  is  made  up  of 
doubt,  which  is  the  very  essence  of  Drama.  This  infatua- 
tion with  Mere  "Life"  is  the  bane  of  the  amateur.  But  when 
he  becomes  a  professional  in  his  knowledge  he  knows  how 
to  give  real  Action  to  that  Life.  Turn  now  to  the  ending 
of  the  fourth  act  of  "Ingomar,"  beginning  with  page  42, 
where  Parthenia  and  Ingomar  appear  on  the  cliff.  All 
you  have  to  do  to  convert  all  that  follows  into  Mere  Life 
is  to  have  them,  as  soon  as  they  appear,  begin  to 
talk  lovingly,  everything  settled,  he  determined  to  go  with 
her  to  the  city,  &c.  True,  you  would  not  have  the  same 
ending  to  the  act,  but  you  could  get  any  amount  of  Detail 
and  talk  which  would  be  true  to  Life,  but  you  would  have 
converted  those  finely  dramatic  Scenes  into  Mere  Life,  and 
in  representation  it  would  bore  an  audience  beyond  ex- 


ACTION    (drama)    is  NOT  MERE  LIFE  185 

pression.  Mere  "Life"  on  the  stage  is  the  most  abhorrent 
of  all  things.  Give  up  the  delusion  that  mere  fidelity  to 
life  is  the  one  characteristic  of  the  Drama.  "Holding  up 
the  mirror  to  Life"  will  not  secure  a  true  reflection  unless 
tSe"^mlffor  is  held  at  the  proper  dramatic  angle. 

In  a  properly  constructed  and  well  written  play  like 
"The  Lady  of  Lyons"  it  is  practically  useless  to  look  for 
examples  of  Mere  Life.  It  is  almost  impossible  for  a  dra- 
matist, a  real  dramatist,  to  use  Mere  Life;  it  is  almost 
equally  impossible  for  an  inexperienced  one  not  to  do  so. 
The  danger  from  it  confronts  the  beginner  always,  and  it  is 
useful  in  the  analysis  of  a  play  to  discover  this  "means  of 
weakness  and  debility."  This  Mere  Life  may  even  lie 
perdue  somewhere  in  a  real  dramatist's  play  and  cause 
failure.  We  can  only  profit  from  this  play  on  this  point 
by  seeing  what  would  have  ^een  Mere  Life  if  the  author 
had  not  exercised  his  art.  /tf,  in  the  last  act,  Damas  and 
Melnotte  had  gone  to  the  house  of  the  Deschappelles  know- 
ing that  Pauline  was  true  and  not  faithless,  we  would  have 
had  the  material  for  a  series  of  incidents,  but  it  would  not 
have  been  drama;  the  elements  of  doubt,  the  essence  of 
Action,  the  Unexpected,  Cause  and  Effect,  would  have 
been  absent.  It  would  have  been  Mere  life.  The  last  act, 
in  that  event,  could  have  been  over  in  two  minutes  and 
a  half,  or  it  might  have  been  devoted  to  talk  of  indefinite 
length,  hours  of  it.  You,  the  celebrated  and  rich  Col. 
Morier  are  Melnotte?  Oh  my,  oh  my!  what  battles  were 
you  in?  Did  you  see  much  of  Napoleon?  Howdy  do, 
Cousin  Damas,  why  didn't  you  tell  rne?  And  so  it  might 
run,  this  interminable  stream  of  life,  yVEere  Life,  the  Gulf 
Stream  of  the  amateur.  As  it  is,  the.  entire  play  is  Life  but 
not  Mere  Life;  it  is  dramatic  life.  If  we  could  see  exactly 
what  is  to  be  the  outcome  in  the  last  act  it  would  be  Life, 
but  lifeless  life.'  Life  without  Action  is  impossible  in  the 
drama.  Exposition  of  the  relations  of  Life  to  the  princi- 
ples of  the  drama  must  await  further  discussion.  This  life 
must  conform  to  the  requirements  of  the  drama,  and   is 


l86  ANAIvYSlS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

available  only  if  it  can  be  subjected  to  structure.  Again, 
it  depends  upon  the  way  in  which  it  is  used.  The  very 
same  material  could  be  so  used  that  the  effect  would  be 
Mere  Life.  Pauline  and  her  mother  could  have  conveyed  to 
us  in  conversation  all  that  is  beheld  in  the  first  set  scene. 

In  a  thoroughly  dramatic  play,  it  is  not  possible  to  find 
any  of  what  we  technically  call  Mere  Life.  What  we  do 
find  is  Life  reduced  to  dramatic  terms.  It  is  identical  with 
Life,  and  is  Life  itself,  within  the  restriction  of  the  drama. 
This  statement  should  be  absolutely  conclusive  as  to  the 
happenings,  the  characters  and  the  Action  in  "Camille," 
for  it  is  obviously  as  close  a  transcript  of  life  as  may  be 
found  in  a  drama.  If  an  author  ever  knew  his  subject  and 
his  play,  it  was  Dumas  in  this  play.  We  may  assume 
that  all  the  characters  and  many  of  the  facts  existed  in  his 
mind  from  his  own  experience  before  he  translated  them  all 
into  a  play.  In  our  discussion  of  Action  and  Episode  else- 
where we  have  shown  how  very  close  some  of  the  scenes 
come  to  Mere  Life,  saved  from  it  only  by  the  skill  and  tech- 
nical purpose  of  the  dramatist.  We  have  only  to  refer  to 
the  supper  scene  and  the  episodes  of  the  last  act.  Having 
assumed  and  demonstrated  that  there  is  no  life  in  the  objec- 
tionable sense  in  the  play,  our  only  profitable  exercise  can 
be  in  translating  the  dramatic  life  of  ^'Camille"  back  again 
into  the  mere  life  from  which  it  was  derived.  This  may 
be  done  in  many  different  ways.  Qne  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  mere  life  is  lack  of  Unity.  .  If  we  destroy 
the  Ijnity  of  the  Flot  or  of  any  of  the  many  elements  in  a 
play,  we  might  begin  the  work  of  tearing  down  what 
drama  has  built  up.  Drama  never  takes  a  part  for  the 
whole.  It  is  never  satisfied  with  imperfection  when  that 
imperfection  amounts  to  an  insufficiency.  If  the  play  had 
half  a  dozen  main  objects,  it  might  have  many  scenes  of 
momentary  interest,  and  those  scenes  might  be  absolutely 
true  to  life,  but  it  would  not  be  drama,  and  consequently 
not  dramatic  life.  We  could  destroy  the  drama  in  a  play 
by  disarranging  the  Sequence  of  events.     Much  that  hap- 


ACTION    (drama)    is  NOT   W^Rt  LIFE  187 

pens  in  this  play  might  have  happened  without  the  Se- 
quence at  present  in  the  play.  We  would  have  become  ac- 
quainted with  facts  in  their  wrong  order  and  the 
effect  would  be  entirely  different.  The  interest 
would  be  entirely  different.  The  interest  would  not 
be  sustained  and  drama  would  be  lost.  If  convey- 
ed by  means  of  Story  there  would  be  no  drama. 
One  departure  from  dramatic  methods  would  lead  to 
other  departures,  and  defects  would  be  piled  upon 
defects.  By  means  of  wrong  Sequence  and  Story  the 
Unexpected  would  be  destroyed.  In  Life,  practically  any- 
thing may  happen  and  in  any  order.  Why  could  not  Var- 
ville  know  in  the  opening  of  the  play  that  he  had  a  pros- 
pective rival  in  Armand  ?  It  is  useless  to  reply  to  this  that 
the  facts  do  not  permit  it,  for  we  must  remember  that  all 
the  facts  in  this  Material  used  by  Dumas  were  inchoate 
to  begin  with.  It  is  true  that  there  could  have  been  more 
than  one  Sequence,  but  that  Sequence  must  not  be  a  chance 
Sequence  of  Life,  but  according  to  the  dramatic  arrange- 
ment of  the  author.  If  Varville  had  known  of  Armand's 
love  and  of  his  family,  he  might  have  consumed  an  indefi- 
nite time  in  disclosing  out  of  their  order  these  facts  which 
are  involved  in  the  proper  dramatic  progress  of  the  play. 
The  Action  would  have  been  destroyed  by  means  of  this 
anticipation.  Again,  if  the  play  had  no  proper  development, 
Characters  would  constantly  have  to  be  informed  of  what 
had  happened  and  there  would  be  an  unendurable  amount 
of  repetition.  In  other  words,  you  must  make  life  conform 
to  the  needs  of  the  drama.  If  Varville  had  known  of  the 
danger  of  a  rival,  his  whole  attitude  toward  Camille  would 
have  changed  and  he  could  not  be  got  rid  of  so  easily  be- 
fore the  supper.  Of  course,  it  would  not  have  been  impos- 
sible for  Dumas  to  have  made  Varville  know  of  the  danger 
of  a  rival  from  the  beginning,  but  the  Action  would  have 
taken  a  different  course.  He  would  have  made  it  dramatic, 
but,  in  any  event,  he  would  have  had  to  translate  life  into 
drama.     A  dramatist  must  certainly  fight  against  the  pos- 


l88  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

sibilities  of  Life.  What  would  be  more  natural  in  the  last 
act  than  to  have  Armand  expected?  It  would  be  life,  but  it 
would  destroy  the  present  Action  completely.  We  have 
in  another  chapter  called  attention  to  Dumas'  device  of 
withholding  from  the  audience  even  the  fact  that  Camille 
had  received  a  letter  from  Armand's  father  six  weeks  be- 
fore the  opening  of  the  act.  It  might  be  said  that  it  would 
not  be  an  impossible  dramatic  Sequence  to  have  this  Mono- 
logue in  which  this  fact  is  disclosed  come  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  act.  But  the  dramatist  is  always  looking  for 
the  dramatic  and  constant  improvement  of  the  dramatic. 
He  gets  as  far  away  from  Mere  Life  as  he  can.  We  show, 
in  its  proper  place,  why  the  Episode  in  which  Prudence  bor- 
rows the  money  is  Action.  Take  that  Action  out  of  it  and 
it  would  still  be  Life,  but  it  would  not  be  Dramatic  Life. 
Could  you  demand  a  closer  example  of  dramatic  conditions? 
Indeed,  the  happenings  of  this  play  could  be  presented  in 
such  a  way  that  there  would  be  no  Plot.  It  could  be  reduc- 
ed to  Life  by  means  of  destroying  the  Cause  and  Effect. 
Nothing  could  be  easier  than  to  give  certain  effects  and  to 
explain  them  afterwards. 

\J  The  definition  of -Drama,  brief  as  it  is,  expressly  states 
in  one  of  its  clauses  that  it  is  an  imitation  of  I^ife.  It  is 
more  to  afford  the  illusion  of  Life,  so  that,  without  now 
dwelling  upon  the  definitions  and  differences  involved  be- 
tween Life  and  the  imitation  of  it,  we  may  conveniently 
say  that  the  aim  of  the  Drania  is  the_reproduction  of  Life_. 
Many  "dramatists,"  however,  imagine  that  the  reproduc- 
tion of  Life  is  all  that  is  required.  We  have  advanced  far 
enough  in  these  exercises  to  become  convinced  that  every- 
thing is  referable  back  to  structure.  Mere  Life  has  no 
standing  in  Court.  Thinking  for  yourself,  you  must  have 
observed  that  a  number  of  these  principles  are  corollary 
principles,  fundamental  as  they  are.  Thus,  we  find  that  in 
their  nearest  relation  Mere  Words,  Mere  Business,  and 
Mere  Life,  for  example,  are  subordinate  to  Action.  They 
are  governed  by  other  things  also,  but  more  directly  by 


ACTION    (drama)    is  NOT   MERE  U^E  189 

Action.  Now^  Mere  Life  could  be  illustrated  by  the  same 
examples  which  we  have  in  Mere  Business  and  Were 
Words;  but  there  is  a  distinction  in  each  case,  as  for  ex- 
ample, Business  does  not  necessarily  require  Words.  In 
short,  the  mistake  of  Mere  Life  for  Drama  by  the  "drama- 
tists" proceeds  from  a  general  or  partial  misunderstanding 
or  lack  of  understanding  of  drarnatic  law.TTf3^u"o1T!*w^ 
to  undertake  to  write  a  scene  in  the  place  of  the  present 
first  scene  of  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  we  might  make  it 
very  animated  perhaps,  very  interesting,  full  of  repartee, 
full  of  human  nature,  entirely  true  to  all  the  facts  in  the 
case,  and  yet  it  might  not  be  Drama.  It  would  not  be  Dra- 
ma if  we  wrote  Subjectively  and  not  Objectively  in  the 
sense  of  we,  ourselves,  understanding  everything  that  was 
said  and  done,  but  withholding  from  the  audience  the  same 
understanding.  Let  us  suppose  that  the  scene  opened  in  the 
same  room  with  Emily  and  Mrs.  Sternhold  engaged  in  con- 
versation. There  are  infinite  bits  of  talk  and  Business  that 
could  be  introduced  which  would  be  perfectly  true  to  Life. 
Suppose  they  talk  at  great  length  about  Mr.  Mildmay,  but 
without  giving  to  the  audience  the  slightest  hint  as  to  who 
Mr.  Mildmay  is.  .This  may  seem  absurd  as  a  matter  of  writ- 
ing by  any  "dramatist,"  but  it  is  a  very  common  thing  to 
be  seen  in  manuscripts.  The  author  knows  everything,  the 
audience  knows  nothing,  and  yet  the  scene  could  have  hap- 
pened in  Life  in  every  detail  and  in  every  word  and  in 
every  emotion ;  but  if  there  was  any  fun  going  the  charac- 
ters on  the  stage  would  have  it  all  to  themselves,  with  the 
"dramatist"  a  self-deluded  and  imaginary  spectator,  or,  if  a 
real  spectator,  immensely  pleased,  wondering  why  the  audi- 
ence seemed  so  dreadfully  bored.  It  would  be  Life,  but 
might  be  absolutely  without  Proposition,  Plot,  Sequence, 
Objectivity  of  the  right  kind,  and,  for  many  reasons,  not  a 
scene  of  a  play,  however  true  it  might  be  to  Life.  I  It  would 
be  profitable  for  a  student  to  write  a  few  such  scenes  by 
way  of  exercise.  The  student  may  be  inclined  to  think 
that  he  understands  exactly  what  is  meant  by  Mere  Life, 


190  ANAluYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE) 

but  a  material  aim  of  the  exercise  work  is  to  make  sure 
that  he  understands  it,  and  to  have  him  so  disgust  himself 
by  a  sufficient  amount  of  exercise  in  writing  Mere  Life 
scenes  that  he  will,  by  no  possibility,  in  his  own  original 
dramatic  work,  fall  into  any  delusion  and  mistake.  Some 
of  these  scenes  from  "Real  Life,"  of  which  the  ignorant 
are  so  fond  of  prating,  would  be  Drama  in  certain  circum- 
stances, and  again,  they  could  not  possibly  be  used  for  dra- 
matic purposes.  This  is  always  the  case  when  the  scene 
is  not  confined  to  one  main  object ;  it  might  not  be  a  scene 
at  all  in  the  dramatic  sense.  In  "Real  Life"  perhaps,  a  pre- 
ponderating number  of  people  cannot  keep  their  minds 
upon  and  hold  the  conversation  to  one  thing  for  two  min- 
utes at  a  time.  Very  often  the  divergence  of  conversation 
in  Real  Life  may  afford  a  certain  animation.  In  Real  Life 
Mrs.  Sterhold  may  have  had  some  friend,  not  now  in  the 
play,  to  whom  she  may  have  confided  her  trouble  with 
Hawksley  and  his  threat  and  have  requested  him  to  secure 
the  letters.  It  is  obvious  that  this  would  have  destroyed  all 
Unity  in  the  play,  and  have  required  a  different  Proposi- 
tion, consequently,  if  such  a  friend  had  existed,  he  would 
have  had  to  be  eliminated  from  the  scheme  of  the  play. 
That  would  have  been  dreadful,  wouldn't  it,  to  have  laid  a 
destructive  hand  on  Life?  Potter  might  have  told  Mildmay 
of  his  suspicions  about  Emily  and  Hawksley.  It  is  true 
that  he  had  no  confidence  in  the  manliness  of  his  son-in- 
law,  but  it  would  not  have  been  unnatural  for  him  to  have 
done  so.  You  can  see  what  a  disturbing  effect  it  would 
have  had  on  the  Action  of  the  play.  This  might  also  have 
been  the  first  scene  in  Real  Life.  In  point  of  fact,  there  are 
thousands  of  Sequences  in  which  what  we  now  see  in  the 
play  may  have  happened.  Perhaps  somewhere  in  the  play 
there  should  be  a  scene  between  Gimlet  and  Mildmay.  But 
in  order  to  determine  whether  this  would  have  been  wise 
technically,  it  would  require  an  amount  of  investigation 
that  would  involve  considerable  thought.  At  any  rate, 
such  a  scene  could  have  taken  place  in  a  play  on  this  ma- 


ACTION    (drama)    is  NOT   MERE  LIFE  IQI 

terial  reproducing  the  real  facts.  Unquestionably,  Mild- 
may  had  many  interviews  with  Gimlet,  and,  in  fact,  did 
see  him  off  stage  during  the  Action  of  the  play.  If  Taylor 
had  to  rely  upon  Mere  Life  for  his  play  he  might  never 
have  been  able  to  write  it,  for  he  would  have  had  to  follow 
the  happenings  exactly  in  their  order  of  happening.  So  it 
is  that  Sequence  determines  how  we  are  to  use  Life.  The 
whole  aim  of  Taylor  was  to  reduce  everything  to  Life,  but 
not  necessarily  to  follow  the  original  form  of  his  Material. 
This  drama  is  a  rearrangement  even  of  the  reproduction 
of  Life  in  the  novel  which  suggested  it.  Even  if  many  of 
the  dramatic  requirements  were  in  perfect  Sequence  and 
form  in  actual  Life,  there  would  be  sure  to  be  something 
lacking  which  would  require  an  addition  to  the  real  Life. 
We  must  add  to  and  subtract  from  it  according  to  techni- 
cal necessities.  In  Life  Mildmay  may  have  overheard  Mrs. 
Sternhold's  opinion  of  him  as  expressed  to  Emily  while  he 
pretended  to  be  asleep  on  some  other  occasion.  In  Life 
Emily  may  not  have  used  the  knotted  handkerchief  to  drive 
the  fly  away  from  her  husband's  face,  but  in  the  play  it 
was  necessary  for  Mildmay  to  overhear  Mrs.  Sternhold's 
remark  without  her  knowing  it,  and  then  for  him  to  be  got- 
ten off  the  stage.  The  knotted  handkerchief  was  used  for 
the  technical  purpose  of  giving  him  an  exit.  It  was  not 
Emily's  purpose,  but  the  author's  purpose.  Inasmuch  as 
dramas  are,  after  all,  not  drawn  from  real  Life  in  their  en- 
tirety, but  come  from  the  process  of  imagination  and  rea- 
soning, the  life  that  is  depicted  is  a  compromise,  conse- 
quently those  people  who  pretend  to  go  back  to  real  life  are 
unconsciously  betraying  ignorance  of  dramatic  method. 

"A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  is  as  nearly  imperisha- 
ble as  a  play  can  be  because  it  is  so  true  to  Life.  It  leaves 
the  impression  of  actuality  in  spite  of  the  verse  form. 
Genius  like  Massinger's  has  the  insight  that  can  get  at 
truth  in  the  characters  and  circumstances  within  its  hori- 
zon and  environment.  It  does  not  need  to  take  flight  to 
some  distant  sphere  and  to  depend  upon  imagination.     It 


192  ANALYSIS   OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE; 

can  idealize  while  it  remains  realistic.  Lady  Allworth  and 
Lord  Lovell  are  ideal  figures,  but  human.  There  is  no 
Mere  Life  in  this  play,  because  it  all  belongs  to  the  Action. 
But  even  so  it  could  have  dropped  into  Mere  Life  had  it 
been  improperly  managed.  By  referring  to  the  discussion 
of  Episode  in  this  play  you  will  see  why  it  is  that  scenes 
which  start  out  with  a  certain  independence  of  the  Plot 
and  Action  are  not  Mere  Life.  rThe  first  Episode,  that  of 
the  servants,  would  be  Mere  Life  if  the  Audience  was  ex- 
pecting some  definite  progress  in  the  Action  at  this  point, 
and  if  the  servants  had  been  presented  in  a  meaningless 
exhibition  of  themselves,  or  if  they  had  exhibited  perfectly 
natural  traits  of  character  which  had  no  connection  with  the 
Action.  No  progress  is  made  in  the  Action  of  the  Plot  in 
this  scene,  but  we  are  led  to  expect  something  in  the  devel- 
opment of  conditions.  The  first  scene  in  the  second  act 
between  Sir  Giles  and  Marrall  would  be  Mere  Life  if  noth- 
ing were  to  come  of  his  character  and  his  designs  against 
Wellborn.  Make  them  talk  about  any  other  thing  than 
that  which  bears  on  the  traits  of  character  from  which  Well- 
born is  to  suffer  and  has  suffered,  and  it  would  not  be  to  the 
purpose.  Let  Lady  Allworth  and  Lord  Lovell  discuss  the 
qualities  needed  in  a  soldier,  (as  she  does  with  Tom)  they 
would  be  doing  something  that  would  be  natural  enough  in 
Life,  but  they  are  not  permitticd  to  do  so  in  the  play.  Merely 
to  show  Character  in  that  way  would  be  too  remote  from 
the  real  concern  of  the  Action.  Talk  may  be  devoted  to 
abstractions  in  Life,  but  not  in  a  play.  If  Lady  Allworth 
had  gone  one  step  further  when  she  told  her  maids  to  sort 
the  silk  and  had  given  details  about  it,  it  would  have  been 
Life,  Mere  Life,  because  wholly  Unnecessary  to  the  Action^. 
It  was  useful  if  not  absolutely  Necessary  for  her  to  be 
shown,  and  this  particular  bit  of  Life  was  required  for  a 
technical  reason;  the  maids  were  to  be  used  in  the  incidents 
of  the  appearance  of  Wellborn.  Lady  Allworth's  entrance 
was  made  lifelike  by  the  touch  of  what  was  in  no  degree 
disturbing. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


ACTION  (DRAMA)  IS  NOT  STORY. 

You  have  seen  what  Action  is  and  what  it  is  not, 
both  serving  to  keep  you  from  the  many  mistakes  that  are 
universally  and  continually  made  by  the  novice.  The  drama 
depending  always  on  what  happens  NOW,  before  the  eye, 
whatever  is  said  or  done  must  affect  the  characters  and 
the  Action  in  the  present  time.  Things  have  to  happen  in 
a  given  order  or  the  play  falls  into  Story.  A  play  must  be 
acted  in  all  its  material  parts.  Story  is  that  material  some- 
thing which  is  told  whereas  it  should  be  acted.  By  this  to- 
ken, at  least,  you  may  perceive  it  most  plainly.  The  Dis- 
ease of  Story  in  a  play  has  many  symptoms.  Expression  by 
means  of  words  is  not  necessarily  Story,  and  Story  is  not 
confined  to  words.  An  essential  thing  may  be  acted  and 
not  told  and  yet  be  Story  because  out  of  Sequence. 
The  acting  or  telling  of  something  in  advance  of  its  proper 
place  of  communication  to  the  audience  is  also  Story.  Cer- 
tain essential  things  must  be  withheld  until  they  can  pro- 
perly happen.  In  a  really  good  play,  after  the  Action  is 
once  set  going,  everything  that  happens  should  happen  by 
reason  of  what  has  happened  in  preceding  scenes.  "Ingo- 
mar"  is  a  fine  example  of  the  entire  absence  of  Story  or  any 
occasion  for  it.  True,  something  of  the  past,  not  seen,  may 
at  times  have  to  be  narrated,  but  it  is  always  something  that 
affects  the  Action  of  the  moment.  The  present  time  always. 
Every  play  has  what  is  called  the  Conditions  Precedent. 
Now,  Story  can  creep  into  a  play  in  many  ways,  and  it  often 
does  so  when  the  Conditions  Precedent  are  inexpertly 
handled. 

In  "Ingomar"  among  the  Conditions  Precedent  are 
that  Parthenia  lives  in  Massillia,  the  daughter  of  a  poor 
armorer;  is  now  of  a  marriageable  age,  and  her  mother 
13 


194  ANAI^YSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

wants  her  to  marry  an  aged  and  repulsive  suitor,  who  is  a 
miser.  The  neighboring  tribes  are  savages  or  barbarians 
who  often  take  captive  and  hold  for  hostage  the  citizens  of 
Massillia.  Massillia  is  governed  by  a  Timarch.  Parthe- 
nia's  parents  are  needy.  Her  mother  wishes  her  to  marry 
a  rich  old  miser.  She  is  heartwhole  and  fancy  free.  These 
Facts  and  many  other  Conditions  and  Details  exist  before 
the  Action  begins.  The  play  is  unusually  free  from  active 
dramatic  happenings  before  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  but  the 
conditions  for  the  Action  are  perfect.  The  beginner  is  al- 
ways impatient  to  get  in  all  his  facts  immediately.  In  this 
play  they  are  brought  out  only  as  the  Action  calls  for  them. 
The  Facts  are  certainly  not  told  by  any  of  the  characters 
simply  for  the  information  of  the  audience.  The  dramatist 
must  distinguish,  in  his  Material,  the  Conditions  Precedent 
in  order  to  be  able  to  handle  them  in  the  proper  way. 

A  play  is  defective  where  it  is  conveyed  by  means  of 
Story,  in  which  Words  are  involved.  In. fact  there  should 
be  no  Story  in  the  strict  technical  sense.  It  is-^not  by 
Words  alone  that  Story  may  creep  into  a  play.]  Story  is 
where  essential  things  are  described  and  not  r^resehte^t  I 
if  it  is  essential  that  they  be  seen  in  the  Action.  I  It  would  « 
be  Story  if  Beauseant,  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  while  try- 
ing to  devise  with  Glavis  some  means  of  revenge,  had  be- 
thought him  of  Melnotte,  and  had  told  Glavis  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  being  called  ''The  Prince;"  but 
the  true  method  was  followed  by  Bulwer  in  having 
Melnotte  heard  acclaimed  the  "Prince"  in  the  shouts 
of  the  peasants^LThe  further  account  of  Melnotte 
as  given  in  words  by  the  Landlord  is  not  Story,  for 
the  essential  thing  has  been  established  and  the  rest  is  de- 
tail. It  is  not  Story  when  Caspar  tells  of  his  treatment. 
On  the  contrary,  if  there  were  a  scene  showing  this  treat- 
ment, it  would  be  Story,  because  unnecessary.  The  essen- 
tial thing  is  the  return  of  Caspar  smarting  from  a  beating 
and  the  effect  of  his  message  on  the  hopeful  Melnotte.  In 
a  Story  in  the  shape  of  a  novel  such  a  scene  might  be  de- 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT   STORY  195 

scribed,  for  the  medium  used  in  the  novel  is  words,  but  in 
this  play  such  a  scene  would  have  destroyed  all  interest  in 
the  very  scene  in  which  he  tells  of  his  treatment.  It  is  not 
Story  at  the  opening  of  the  last  act  where  we  learn  of 
Morier.  If  the  facts  had  been  brought  out  in  another  way 
through  a  monologue  by  Damas,  it  would  have  closely  ap- 
proached Story.  It  would  have  been  undramatic.  Several 
new  characters  had  to  be  created  to  keep  it  from  becoming 
storyy '  If  in  the  last  act  Melnotte  and  Pauline  had  held  an 
interview  in  which  she  told  of  her  father's  bankruptcy,  and 
>»we  had  not  the  visible  facts  in  this  scene  before  us,  it 
would  have  been  Story  to  the  extent  of  robbing  the  Action 
of  its  details  and  progression^  There  being  no  Story  in 
plays  like  this  our  only  way  is^to  imagine  how  what  is  now 
dramatic  might  be  converted  into  Story. 

Various  disarrangements  create  Story,  but  more  of  this 
later. 

In  making  a  study  of  "Camille"  with  reference  to  Story  in 
its  objectionable  sense,  we  are  again  confronted  with  the 
impossibility  of  finding  examples  of  it  in  a  thoroughly  dra- 
matic play.  The  introduction  of  narrative  in  order  to  get 
into  the  Action  the  Conditions  Precedent  by  telling  the 
things  which  are  matters  of  course  and  which  have  origi- 
nally happened  and  do  not  need  to  be  shown,  is  not  Story 
in  the  objectionable  sense  of  being  undramatic.  It 
would  be  a  confusion  of  terms  to  describe  as  Story  Nan- 
ine's  account  of  Camille's  experience  in  being  denied  ad- 
mission into  society  under  the  patronage  of  the  Due  de 
Meuriac.  There  are  many  details  in  this  account  given  by 
Nanine,  but  they  are  of  the  past,  and  we  are  concerned 
simply  with  the  results  and  the  bearing  of  this  past  on  the 
present.  Again,  it  is  not  Story  in  the  last  act  where  the 
letter  from  Armand's  father  tells  us  of  what  has  happened 
since  the  duel.  The  happenings  are  logical  and  readily 
accepted.  We  find  here  also  many  details,  that  Varville  is 
out  of  danger,  that  six  weeks  have  passed,  that  Duval  has 
written  to  Armand,  and  that  Armand  quitted  France,  and 


196  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

that  the  father  in  writing  to  him  told  him  of  Camille's  sac- 
rifice. Both  in  Nanine's  recital  and  in  this  letter  the  im- 
portant things  concern  the  present.  If,  for  any  reason, 
these  facts  should  be  acted,  these  scenes  would  be  Story. 
It  would  be  easy  to  divert  much  of  what  has 
been  done  and  said  by  Nichette  and  Gustave  into 
Story.  If  Nichette  had  not  been  shown  in  the  second  scene 
of  the  first  act  as  a  working  girl,  and  if  Nanine  had  engaged 
in  a  conversation  with  Varville,  in  the  course  of  which  she 
had  told  of  the  life  of  Camille  as  an  embroideress  and  of 
her  association  with  Nichette,  it  would  have  been  Story. 
It  may  be  said  that  this  Story  would  have  served.  That 
may  be,  but  not  properly  within  the  conditions  of  this  dra- 
ma and  its  plain  requirements.  It  is  not  enough  that  one 
method  may  serve,  it  depends  upon  the  artistic  manage- 
ment of  the  material.  A  case  might  be  imagined  in  which 
the  present  effect  of  telling  the  story  of  Nichette  and  Gus- 
tave would  have  been  strong  enough  to  justify  the  Story, 
but  not  as  this  play  stands.  Practically  the  whole  play 
could  not  only  be  told,  but  could  be  acted  in  ^tory  fashion. 
It  takes  mjany  touches  to  make  the  dramatic./  If  there  had 
been  no /cause  shown  for  Nanine  to  tell  the  life  of  Camille 
to  Varville,  it  would  have  been  Story,  because  it  would 
have  been  intended  for  the  audience  and  not  for  Varville^J 
In  a  certain  diluted  story  fashion  there  might  have  been 
some  Action  in  this  according  to  our  ultimate  analysis  of 
what  Action  is,  namely,  the  effect  upon  the  audience,  but 
Action  by  way  of  information  is  a  very  slight  part  of  Ac- 
tion. The  whole  story  of  Armand's  love  and  the  two  years 
of  silence  might  easily  have  been  conveyed  to  the  audience 
in  story  fashion,  but  Dumas  used  the  true  dramatic  method 
in  considering  the  Characters  first.  Tit  is  very  easy  for  an 
inexperienced  dramatist  to  fall  into  the  Story  meth- 
od in  developing  his  play  in  his  eagerness  to  con- 
vey facts  to  the  audience  at  oncel  Thus,  it  is 
plain  that  the  danger  and  the  evil  of*^ory  telling  may 
be  traced  back  to  the  mistake  that  an  inexperienced  author 


ACTION    (drama)    is  NOT   STORY  197 

SO  often  makes  in  trying  to  get  into  direct  personal  com- 
munication with  the  audience.  Again,  all  the  facts  about 
Armand's  family  might  have  been  conveyed  by  him  to 
Camille  in  his  interview  with  her.  In  an  awkward  way 
that  might  have  served,  but  a  dramatist  is  measured  by 
the  niceties  of  his  art.  He  considers  always  all  the  bearings 
of  the  Action,  and  is  not  concerned  solely  with  Story.  The 
larger  Action  requires  that  the  other  characters  take  no 
interest  in  his  reference  to  his  sister,  consequently,  there 
is  something  more  than  Story  in  his  telling  of  his  family. 
The  use  of  the  term  "mere"  has  a  direct  value  in  treatment. 
Mere  Story,  Mere  Life,  Mere  Business,  mere  anything  is 
an  abomination  and  an  impossibility  in  the  drama.  Many 
plays  fail  because  they  have  too  much  Story.  It  depends 
upon  treatment.  It  is  Story  or  it  is  Action  according  to  the 
happenings.  The  gossip  about  the  yellow  carriage  would 
seem  to  be  story,  and  would  be  Story  if  it  meant  anything 
in  and  for  itself.  But  the  purpose  is  not  to  tell  the  story, 
but  to  show  the  frivolity  of  Camille's  companions.  Ca- 
mille's  relations  with  Due  de  Meuriac  during  the  progress 
of  the  play  would  seem  to  be  Story,  but  they  are  not,  for 
the  only  material  things  in  it  are  that  he  sends  her  money 
and  that  he  naturally  withdraws  his  support.  If  his  pres- 
ence in  the  Action  were  needed,  then  all  that  concerns  him 
if  merely  told  would  be  Story.  When  Prudence  re- 
turns in  the  second  act  and  tells  Camille  of  Armand^s  state 
of  mind  and  his  wish  to  see  her,  it  is  not  Story,  for  the 
most  important  thing  at  this  moment  is  Camille's  state  of 
agitation  and  the  necessity  of  ridding  herself  of  Varville 
If  Prudence's  account  of  Armand's  state  of  mind  had  not 
been  to  the  purp'ose,  and  if  it  had  concerned  the  mere  con- 
dition of  affairs,  it  wo.uld  have  been  Story.  If  she  had  re- 
tailed to  Camille  what  Armand  himself  tells  her  in  the 
interview  which  shortly  follows  between  them,  it  would 
have  been  Story.  And  it  is  plain  that  we  can  convert  Ac- 
tion into  Story  by  having  one  character  speak  the  words 
which  belong  to  another.    We  have  already  shown  why  the 


198  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.E 

talk  between  Nichette  and  Gaston  and  Camilley  about 
Gustave's  first  case  as  a  lawyer  is  not  Story.  Its  use  is  of 
the  present,  and  the  fact  that  Gustave's  first  client  was 
condemned  to  ten  years  hard  labor  is  of  no  consequence 
in  itself.  The  story  has  simply  an  indirect  value  and  is 
dramatic,  not  because  of  the  Story,  but  because  of  the 
effect  of  it  in  the  scene.  It  is  not  Story  when  we  are  told 
in  the  last  act  of  the  marriage  of  Gustave  and  Nichette,  for 
we  did  not  have  to  see  this  marriage,  and  their  return  to 
her  just  before  her  death  is  controlling  in  its  nature.  It  is 
not  Story  when  we  are  told  of  Gaston's  reconciliation  with 
his  mother,  for  the  fact  as  told  is  of  controlling  importance 
and  is  of  the  present  time.  Story  is  also  brought  into  a 
play  by  means  of  lack  of  Preparation.  This  being  absent 
intelligent  expectation  is  lacking  and  the  "Action"  at  once 
falls  into  Story,  for  it  is  not  Self-Explanatory.  Again,  if 
Indirection  were  not  used.  Story  would  take  its  place.  If 
facts  were  not  seen,  Story  would  have  to  supply  the  ab- 
sence of  necessary  visible  proof. 

In  a  good  play  there  is  no  Story  in  the  undramatic  sense. 
In  order  to  make  a  profitable  exercise  upon  any  principle 
which  is  not  misapplied  in  a  given  play,  (and  consequently 
a  good  play  in  that  respect),  we  must  invent  misapplica- 
tions that  might  be  made  by  the  inexpert  writer.  The  work 
of  analysis  would  become  perfunctory  if  the  student  fol- 
lowed one  form  or  model  all  the  time,  and  was  not  on  the 
lookout  for  the  various  proper  forms  of  application  and  the 
innumerable  forms  and  aspects  of  misapplication.  It  would 
be  traveling  around  in  a  circle,  whereas  analysis  is  meant 
for  the  discovery  of  virtues  and  defects  real  or  possible  in 
all  their  forms.  The  material  for  a  play,  with  its  Condi- 
tions Precedent,  is  almost  invariably  in  the  form  of  Story. 
The  Material  as  it  is  collected  in  the  notes  or  in  the  mind 
of  the  writer,  if  he  is  a  dramatist,  gradually  become  more 
and  more  dramatic.  Let  us,  in  this  exercise,  consider  the 
improper  handling  of  the  material  by  an  amateur,  who  may 
be  described  as  one  who  does  not  know  his  business  or  art 


ACTION    (drama)    is   not    STORY  1 99 

thoroughly.  He  may  know  it  superficially  and  have  some 
understanding  of  the  fundamental  principles ;  but  he  knows 
it  just  as  one  who  may  have  travelled  over  the  waters  of 
the  bay  and  river  and  sound  of  New  York  knows  them.  He 
may  point  out  localities,  he  may  have  a  picture  in  his  mind 
of  the  general  outlines,  but  he  does  not  have  that  complete 
knowledge  which  is  essential  to  the  pilot,  who  must  know 
all  the  shallows  and  depths  and  rocks.  In  other  words,  to 
put  any  knowledge  to  practical  use  he  who  would  use  it 
must  know  it  all. 

The  inexpert  writer  or  "dramatist"  would  be  inclined  to 
set  forth  at  once  in  his  "play"  all  that  which  is  contained 
in  our  worked  out  exercise  on  the  Conditions  Precedent. 
Let  us  further  suppose  that  he  developed  after  his  fashion, 
the  natural  one  to  him  of  telling  a  Story,  all  the  Condi- 
tions Precedent  and  all  that  happens  in  "Still  Waters  Run 
Deep"  in  the  form  of  a  novel  or  a  Story.  He  would  natu- 
rally first  give  an  account  of  Hawksley,  describing  his  char- 
acter, his  career  and  his  business  methods.  He  would  tell 
of  the  forged  note,  of  Mildmay's  former  employment  in  the 
same  house,  of  Hawksley's  attentions  to  Emily  before  her 
marriage  with  Mildmay,  and  would  proceed  in  the  develop- 
ment of  a  Story  with  reference  to  the  time  of  all  occur- 
rences, beginning  at  the  beginning.  He  would  make  an  in- 
teresting Story,  and  so  far  as  the  Material  is  concerned,  ex- 
actly the  same  thing  as  the  drama  which  we  now  have.  All 
the  facts  would  be  there,  all  the  characters  and  their  charac- 
teristics and  all  the  happenings,  but  they  would  be 
presented  in  a  different  order.  You  will  at  once  re- 
cognize the  principle  which  would  make  such  a  vast 
difference  in  the  form  used,  the  difference  between  Story 
and  Drama,  as  Sequence.  We  do  not  stop  to  dwell  upon 
all  the  difficulties  involved  between  the  telling  and  the 
acting.  That  study  belongs  to  the  further  pursuit  of  the 
analysis.  We  will  assume  that  this  Material  elaborated 
into  the  form  of  a  novel  by  the  inexpert  "dramatist"  is 
dialogued   after  being  divided  into  Acts  and   Scenes.     It 


200  ANALYSIS   O^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

would  Still  be  Story,  not  only  because  of  the  difference  in 
the  Sequence,  but  because  of  a  hundred  other  differences. 
Thus  you  will  see  that  Story  is  not  confined  to  the  mere 
telling  of  a  thing.  This  novel  or  Story  so  dialogued  might, 
at  various  points,  coincide  with  a  proper  dramatic  version 
of  the  Material,  and  might  intermittently  be  truly  drama- 
tic, but  just  as  one  must  know  the  whole  art  to  write  a  play 
properly,  so  must  the  whole  play  be  dramatic.  A  play 
that  is  half  Story  and  half  drama  may  be  just  as  bad  as  a 
play  that  is  all  Story.  The  very  minute  you  go  wrong  you 
stir  up  a  nest  of  hornets.  The  imperfections  and  the  vio- 
lations of  principle  attack  you  venomously  on  all  sides.  If 
you  were  able  intelligently  to  consult  all  the  principles  you 
would  see  where  you  had  made  your  first  misstep  and  had 
then  violated  and  outraged  them  all.  Dialogue  and  Material 
without  a  proper  Sequence,  and  without  a  consideration  of 
the  proper  structure,  will  destroy  unexpectedness,  logic, 
effect,  everything.  Assuming  that  you  do  not  get  every- 
thing wrong,  you  get  enough  wrong  to  destroy  your  play. 
It  is  obvious  from  what  has  been  said  above,  that  play  writ- 
ing consists  largely  in  converting  Story  into  Drama.  This 
converting  Story  into  Drama  is  not  confined  to  converting 
the  past  into  the  present.  The  amateur  will  often  convert 
the  future  into  the  present.  If  the  Material  is  dramatic,  it 
is  almost  impossible  to  destroy  every  bit  of  the  drama  in  it, 
and  because  a  little  bit  of  this  drama,  in  spots,  remains,  the 
amateur  is  deluded  into  thinking  his  work  is  a  drama.  If 
we  take  up  the  first  scene  in  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  we 
find  that  it  must  have  been  written  after  the  structure  of 
the  play  had  been  decided  upon.  If  one  does  not  make  his 
structure  perfect,  or  at  least  serviceable  to  his  ,dramatic  us€, 
he  will  inevitably  fall  into  Story.  Emily  and  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold  might  have  had  a  scene  in  the  beginning  of  the  play, 
(remembering  that  we  have  abandoned  all  ideas  of  struc- 
ture and  are  writing  offhand,  and  not  having  in  our  minds 
at  all  the  possibilities  of  this  first  scene]  in  which  they  could 
have  discussed  Tennyson,  and  Emily's  romanticism  could 


ACTION    (drama)    is    NOT    STORY  20I 

have  been  shown.  They  could  have  talked  of 
Hawksley  and  how  near  Emily  came  to  marrying 
him;  they  could  have  described  his  business,  his 
brilliancy  and  his  appearance,  and  could  have  talked 
at  some  length  on  the  prosaic  nature  of  Mildmay  and 
their  idea  as  to  his  weak  character.  In  short,  they  could 
have  used  up  so  much  material  by  way  of  Story,  that  a 
dozen  scenes  in  the  present  Action  could  have  been  de- 
stroyed. It  would  have  been  Story.  It  would  have  been  a 
use  of  the  details  of  the  Material  in  their  wrong  order. 
There  could  have  been  a  scene  between  Mildmay  and  Pot- 
ter in  which  they  might  have  talked  of  the  dominating 
character  of  Mrs.  Sternhold.  Thus  we  would  have  had  a 
second  scene  utterly  destructive  of  other  scenes  as  they 
now  properly  exist,  and  the  whole  material  might  have 
been  so  wasted  in  Story  that  the  entire  act  would  have  been 
without  effect.  In  Story  fashion  the  Act  would  have  been 
exhausted  in  one  third  the  space  now  given  to  it.  We  would 
have  seen  little  or  nothing  and  heard  a  great  deal.  We 
would  not  have  seen  the  thing  itself.  The  tendency  to  tell 
things  instead  of  showing  them  would  have  prevented  cer- 
tain of  the  most  effective  scenes  that  we  now  have  from 
even  entering  into  the  mind  of  the  "dramatist."  The  "dra- 
matist" with  the  Story  habit  might  have  omitted  the  scene 
between  Emily  and  Hawksley.  He  might  have  omitted 
the  scene  between  Mrs.  Sternhold  and  Hawksley  in  which 
Hawksley  threatens  her  with  exposure  by  publishing  the 
letters.  He  might  have  had  the  scene  offstage  and  had  her 
tell  Mildmay  about  the  interview,  describing  it  perhaps  in 
a  very  animated  way,  but  this  would  not  have  taken  the 
place  of  the  scene  itself.  Certain  parts  of  the  Material  and 
Action  must  be  in  the  form  of  Scenes.  When  the  dramatist 
determines  upon  what  he  must  use  in  the  form  of  Scenes, 
he  then  has  left  a  part  of  his  Material  which  can  be  told, 
and  this  telling  does  not  constitute  "Story."  It  is  not  Story 
when  Potter  confides  to  Mrs.  Sternhold  his  suspicion  that 
the  relations  between  Hawksley  and  Emily  are  too  inti- 


202  ANAIvYSIS    01?   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI,!: 

mate.  It  is  the  fact  of  his  suspicion  that  is  Objective,  and 
it  is  of  Action  all  compact.  In  the  first  place,  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  us  to  have  had  presented  to  us  on 
the  stage  happenings  of  the  past  which  have  caused  Potter 
to  be  suspicious.  Potter's  suspicion  is  surely  made  Objec- 
tive, is  it  not?  What  has  happened  is ^^f  nothing  like  as 
important  as  what  is  going  to  happen  Objectively  between 
Emily  and  Hawksley.  What  does  happen  between  the 
weakly  sentimental  woman  and  the  seductive  rascally 
swindler  is  of  the  utmost  importance  and  complicates  the 
Action  which  has  been  visible  from,  the  start.  It  is  not 
Story  when  we  are  told  that  Hawksley  had  been  a  suitor 
of  Emily's  before  her  marriage  to  Mildmay.  It  belongs  to 
the  category  of  Potter's  suspicion.  It  did  not  have  to  be 
shown  or  otherwise  proved.  Those  things  of  which  we 
cannot  make  a  scene  of  the  present  moment  must  necessa- 
rily be  subordinated  to  and  included  in  such  scenes  as  are 
essentialj  Narrative  is  not  necessarily  "Story."  Some  of 
the  confusion  of  the  idea  in  relation  to  Story  comes  from 
the  different  meanings  of  the  word.  In  consequence  of  this 
I  sometimes  adopt  the  device  of  quoting  "Story"  when  it  is 
meant  in  the  undramatic  sense.  The  Story  of  a  play  is  that 
which  is  contained  in  its  Proposition  and  Plot.  Again, 
Story  could  easily  be  applied  to  the  synopsis  or  Scenario 
of  a  play;  but  both  uses  of  the  term  indicate  something 
distinctly  different  from  "Story."  It  must  be  confessed  that 
Hawksley's  past  career,  particularly  with  reference  to  the 
•forged  bill,  looks  very  much  like  "Story."  But,  on  the 
.whole,  it  might  be  well  claimed  that  Taylor's  use  of  his 
material  and  the  way  in  which  he  has  introduced  the  past 
constitute  the  best  Treatment  in  the  circumstances.  Taylor 
was  a  very  voluminous  dramatist,  and  the  play  bears  some 
marks  of  haste  in  composition.  It  is  a  dramatization  of  a 
novel,  and  may  have  been  done  to  order.  Certainly  the  im- 
pression of  truth  as  to  this  forgery  is  conveyed  in  every  par- 
ticular. If  a  play  of  four  or  five  acts  had  been  called  for 
Taylor  might  have  probably  made   more  of  this   forgery.. 


ACTION    (drama)    is    NOT    STORY  203 

He  might  have  gone  into  more  detail  about  it,  and  had 
Other  characters  involved  in  the  proof.  He  might  have 
made  more  of  it  Objective,  with  some  changes  in  the  Plot. 
But  the  moral  depravity  of  Hav^ksley  is  so  thoroughly 
proved  that  we  accept  Mildmay's  narrative  as  absolutely 
true.  The  effect  of  the  narrative  and  the  production  of  the 
bill  exchanged  for  the  letters  are-  in  themselves  concuusive 
proof.  That  Gimlet  has  been  searching  for  proof  and 
finally  gets  into  his  possession  the  remaining  bill  makes  a 
fact  of  what  Mildmay  tells.  It  is  the  nearest  approach  to 
Story  that  we  have  in  any  of  the  plays  which  we  have 
analyzed.  Our  object  is  not  to  be  academic,  and  it  is  pro- 
fitable for  us  to  closely  question  everything  that  seems  to 
be  irregular.  If  Taylor  had  made  more  of  the  notes  and 
had  added  one  or  two  more  acts,  the  play  would  have  been 
more  of  a  melodrama,  and  the  interest  might  have  turned 
too  largely  on  the  punishment  of  Hawksley  in  itself.  The 
balance  would  not  have  been  kept  between  the  main  and 
the  minor  problems  in  the  Proposition,  namely,  whether 
Mildmay  could  defeat  Hawksley's  financial  rascality,  and 
incidentally  regain  the  mastery  of  his  own  household. 

''A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  is  so  concrete,  so  com- 
pact, so  full  of  Action,  subjective  and  objective,  that  there 
is  no  "Story"  in  it.  It  has  an  extraordinary  number  of  Con- 
ditions Precedent,  but  it  is  never  mere  story.  Everything 
is  brought  out  by  the  necessities  of  the  dialogue  between 
the  characters.  The  greater  part  of  the  first  scene  is  taken 
up  with  an  account  of  Old  Sir  John  Wellborn,  the  riotous 
living  of  the  young  man  which  has  brought  him  so  low, 
the  ingratitude  of  Tapwell,  &c.  It  is  much  of  the  past, 
but  the  thing  of  living  interest  is  of  the  present.  There  is 
not  a  detail  that  does  not  really  concern  the  present  more 
than  the  past.  What  has  happened  before  the  rise  of  the 
curtain  is  merely  incidental  to  what  is  now  happening,  and 
we  would  not  take  the  slightest  interest  in  what  is  told  ex- 
cept for  the  present  conditions  and  the  Action  going  on  be- 
fore our  eyes.    Let  us  suppose  that  this  first  scene  had  been 


204  ANAI^YSIS   OF  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPI,E 

omitted  and  the  play  should  open  with  Wellborn  standing 
outside  the  alehouse  when  Tom  Allworth  appears.  Well- 
born could  have  told  him  all  that  had  happened,  but  which 
we  have  not  seen.  That  would  have  been  in  the  nature 
of  Story;  but  whether  it  would  be  story  depends  upon  the 
circumstances  and  the  object  of  the  author.  If  the  happen- 
ings had  been  unimportant,  it  would  not  necessarily  fall 
under  the  designation  of  "Story."  But  it  was  something 
that  had  to  be  shown.  Consequently,  if  Wellborn  had  merely 
recited  it  it  would  have  been  story.  Wellborn's  humiliation 
is  the  very  keynote  of  the  play.  It  is  because  of  it  that  he 
determines  to  mend  his  ways  and  his  fortunes.  The  talk 
between  Tom  Allworth  and  Wellborn  is  not  Story,  because 
we  get  the  conditions  out  of  which  the  Action  is  to  pro- 
ceed; we  accept  them  for  the  moment  and  we  await  their 
verification.  The  statements  are  to  be  made  facts  as  we 
proceed.  The  facts  are  living  and  promise  even  more  for 
the  future  than  they  afford  of  the  present  so  far  as  the  in- 
terest is  concerned.  What  we  hear  is  cumulative.  The  talk 
between  Sir  Giles  and  Marrall  is  not  Story,  because  what 
they  say  would  have  no  particular  interest  in  itself,  and  is 
not  told,  for  example,  to  interest  us  in  Frugal  or  the  par- 
ticular law  suits  projected,  but  in  the  character  of  Sir  Giles 
in  his  relation  to  his  nephew.  Lady  Allworth's  advice  to 
her  step-son  is  the  very  antithesis  of  story,  although  she 
dwells  on  the  counsel  of  a  husband  of  whom  she  has  been 
bereft.  What  Wellborn  has  said  of  his  relations  with  that 
husband,  what  she  now  says,  and  what  Wellborn  is  to  say 
of  him  to  her  all  make  for  an  issue  of  the  present  moment, 
perilous  to  the  spendthrift.  It  is  very  much  of  the  present, 
subordinating  the  past.  If  these  histories  had  been  told 
without  Cause  and  Effect  they  would  have  been  sterile, 
story  pure  and  simple,  of  small  interest,  inactive.  The  hap- 
penings of  the  last  act  relating  to  the  marriage  by  the  par- 
son would  be  story  if  it  was  necessary  to  act  them  out,  but 
everything  relating  to  it  and  leading  up  to  it  is  so  circum- 
stantial that  we  know  it  must  be  true.    We  know  the  power 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT    STORY  20$ 

of  Sir  Giles,  and  that  his  word  to  the  parson  is  ample. 
There  is  not  a  single  reason  to  doubt  the  happenings.  The 
play  is  so  solidly  built  of  Fact  that  it  would  not  be  easy, 
by  way  of  exercise,  to  reduce  it  to  Story.  Do  not  think  there 
is  Story  in  Amble's  description  of  the  conduct  of  Marrall  at 
Lady  Allworth's  table.  It  did  not  have  to  be  shown,  and 
yet  it  is  of  the  present  moment,  although  it  has  happened 
off  stage.  In  fact,  we  can  hardly  describe  it  as  having  hap- 
pened off  stage,  for  Amble  is  directly  from  the  dining  room. 
It  is  a  Preparation  for  the  very  next  scene,  in  which  we 
have  Marrall  subdued  to  a  belief  in  the  favor  granted  to 
Wellborn  by  Lady  AUworth. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


ACTION  (DRAMA)  IS  NOT  MERE  BUSINESS. 

Your  attention  is  now  called  to  the  "Business"  of  a  play. 

Business  is  the  physical  expression  of  the  actor's  partici- 
pation in  the  Action  of  the  play,  as  it  concerns  him  at  the 
moment.  Naturally,  where  there  are  a  number  of  people  on 
the  stage  the  Business  extends  to  their  disposition  and  the 
combinations  of  expression  and  movement  ordered  by  the 
stage-manager 

The  Business  and  the  stage  directions  in  these 
printed  plays  are  to  be  seen  in  the  bracketed  and  itali- 
cised passages.  Business  is  one  of  the  means  of  the  expres- 
sion of  the  Action,  sometimes  supplementary  to  the  Action 
as  expressed  in  words  and  sometimes  corresponding  to  the 
Action  as  expressed  in  words  and  sometimes  corresponding 
to  the  Action  itself.^he  actor  esteems  Business  as  the  very 
life  of  his  art,  and  in  consequence  the  actor-author  attaches 
too  much  importance  to  it  and  is  misled.  He  is  apt  to  be 
fascinated  with  Mere  Business,  just  as  the  amateur  writer 
is  with  Mere  Life.  But  now  that  you  have  seen  that  a  play 
is  constructed  from  the  Proposition  up,  with  a  Plot  domi- 
nated by  one  purpose,  it  must  be  evident  to  you  that  Busi- 
ness must  be  subordinate  and  necessarily  of  the  moment. 
Structure  comes  first.jtnd  is  fixed,  then__cqmes_tli£_A£tion^ 
without  which  the  play  is  not  complete  until  acted;  and 
the  Business^. to  that  Action  jnaybe^^ifferent  with  each 
actoTpIaying  a  given  part.  The  actor  himself,  in  this  way, 
contrTbutes  to  your  play  and  has  considerable  latitude.  You 
will  observe,  however,  that  Business  is  often  incidentally 
provided  in  the  text  of  a  play.  It  is  necessary  to  garnish 
out  the  Action  in  this  way.  The  actor  is  much  more  at  ease 
if  while  he  is  serving  as  your  mouthpiece  he  is  engaged  in 
something  on  his  own  account.  Thus,  a  woman  is  seen 
""sewing  on  a  sampler"  and  at  the  same  time  occupied  in 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT   Umt   BUSINESS  20/ 

dialogue.  While  Parthenia  talks  of  love  she  is  provided 
with  the  Business  of  weaving  the  garland  of  flowers.  The 
barbarians  have  something  to  do  in  the  way  of  Business 
when  they  play  at  dice.  There  is  nothing  merely  conven- 
tional about  this.  If  we  did  not  use  Business  we  would  not 
be  true  to  the  details  of  life.  It  belongs  to  the  economy  of 
playwriting.  It  saves  words.  The  author  should  put  in 
the  manuscript  of  his  play  all  such  Business  as  in  his  con- 
ception is  necessary  and  should  not  burden  it  unnecessa- 
rily with  directions  which  are  already  implied  or  expressed 
in  the  text.  Much  can  be  left  to  the  stagemanager ;  he  and 
the  actor  develop  the  Action  by  means  of  Business.  A 
stagemanager  or  an  actor-author  may  be  very  full  in  his 
Business  and  stage  directions,  but  it  is  best  for  you  not  to 
be  too  full  in  regard  to  rising,  crossing,  place  of  entran<he, 
exit,  positions  and  stage  details  of  the  acting.  For  the  pres- 
ent, at  least,  do  not  be  impatient  for  information  on  these 
stage  matters.  They  will  be  imparted  later.  This  chapter 
is  intended  to  have  you  read  all  the  plays  with  reference  to 
the  Business  only  to  note  its  value  and  peculiarities.  A  pan- 
tomime is  all  Business,  and  a  play  itself  may  be  intelligible 
from  its  Business  alone,  but  it  must  all  be  provided  for  by 
the  previous  process  of  construction.  Business,  for  the 
most  part,  is  a  means  of  expression  and  is  subordinate.  It 
is  the  pictorial  and  interpretative  part  of  the  art.  You  will 
observe  some  passages  where  it  is  Action  itself;  you  may 
find  other  passages  in  which  you  think  the  Business  could 
be  better  or  different  without  changing  the  Action. 

It  is  important  to  warn  against  a  process  of  thought  that 
seizes  hold  of  Business  too  soon.  Stage  managers,  authors 
and  actors  are  prone  to  be  misled  by  it.  For  the  present, 
note  the  nature,  value  and  function  of  Business.  An  ex- 
perienced author  leaves  to  the  actor  all  Business  which 
is  plainly  implied  in  the  lines  and  the  context.  But  Bulwer 
directs  that  Pauline  say  languidly  "Dear  Mother,  you  spoil 
your  child."  Marian's  altering  the  rose  in  Pauline's  hair 
is  good  Business.    That  she  has  a  maid  is  of  consequence 


208  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

and  she  must  be  given  something  to  do.  Pauline  rises  dis- 
dainfully as  Beauseant  approaches  her.  She  goes  back  to 
the  table  and  takes  up  the  flowers.  The  Business  itself  is 
important  for  no  reference  has  been  made  to  the  flowers 
for  two  scenes,  and  her  Business  with  them  strikes  the 
right  note  just  as  she  makes  her  exit.  If  she  had  had  the 
flowers  in  her  hand  and  made  the  remark,  it  would  have 
been  obvious  and  disturbing  mechanism.  Bulwer  indicates 
no  Business  whatever  for  Damas  in  his  scene  with  the  two 
women.  The  actor,  in  playing  the  part,  could  have  used 
snuff  if  he  chose.  But  Bulwer  had  something  more  im- 
portant in  mind  than  the  mere  accidental  things;  he  was 
after  the  essential  things.  If  anything  had  depended  on,  or 
was  to  turn  on  Damas's  taking  snuff,  he  would  have  had 
it  there.  Bulwer  does  not  put  in  all  the  crossings,  but  he 
seemed  to  think  that  it  would  be  significant  to  have  Beau- 
seant cross  to  Glavis  when  the  Landlord  mentions  Pauline 
as  the  object  of  Melnotte's  love.  The  Widow's  descending 
the  stairs  during  the  shouts  is  good  Business.  You  will 
observe  that  all  the  Business  here  is  illustrative.  Bulwer 
notes  Mad.  Deschappelles  fanning  herself.  See  how  im- 
portant and  yet  incidental  it  all  is.  Bulwer  has  it.  "Mel- 
notte  and  Pauline  pace  the  stage  during  this  speech,  and 
at  the  end  Melnotte  stands  "L."  Mrs.  Langtry  sat  with  Mel- 
notte  on  a  marble  bench,  a  convenient  place  for  embrace 
and  languishing  attitudes.  Servants  peeping  and  laughing 
over  the  shoulder  of  the  Landlord  is  good  Business.  Not 
all  of  Bulwer's  Business  is  usually  followed.  His  Business 
of  having  the  Widow  use  the  staircase  so  often  is  curious, 
and  it  serves  a  good  idea  of  having  her  completely  out 
of  the  way  at  times,  and  the  room  upstairs  has  a  value; 
consequently,  the  Business  has  a  bearing.  We  take  it  that 
he  is  not  going  to  sleep  on  the  same  floor  with  Pauline, 
for  his  mother  takes  her  upstairs.  Besides,  it  gives  oppor- 
tunity for  good  Business  not  indicated  in  the  text.  In  the 
next  act  he  rises  and  goes  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase  and 
listens.     The   Widow   draws   back   the  window   curtains, 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT   MERE   BUSINESS  209 

showing  that  it  is  daybreak.  The  Business  of  opening  the 
lattice  and  looking  in  before  entering  by  the  door  is  very 
old.  The  Widow  stands  at  the  door  watching  the  de- 
parture of  Melnotte.  The  Business  here  employs  all  the 
people  appropriately.  M.  Deschappelles  takes  snuff  on 
page  50.    Bulwer  merely  gives  the  essential  Business. 

Business  is  something  that,  in  an  overwhelming  degree, 
belongs  to  the  art  of  the  actor.  An  author  does  not  and 
cannot  aet  his  own  play  in  all  its  parts,  and  it  would  be 
folly  for  him  to  restrict  all  the  business  to  his  own  pre- 
scribed directions.  Fortunate  is  the  author  who  has  genius 
in  the  actors  added  to  his  own  labors  to  interpret  his  work. 
No  man  succeeds  in  any  commercial  undertaking  who  tries 
to  do  everything  himself.  The  stage  manager  and  actor 
have  their  functions.  Business  and  "plenty  of  it,"  as  the 
people  close  to  the  stage  insist  on,  is  exceedingly  import- 
ant and  absolutely  essential,  but  the  author  need  concern 
himself  only  about  that  which  he  wishes  to  fix  as  a  part  of 
the  Action  itself  or  as  to  what  to  him  is  the  best  expression, 
or  for  which  an  equivalent  must  be  given  by  the  actor.  In 
the  acting,  few  plays  contain  more  Business  than  "Ca- 
mille;"  in  the  text  of  the  play  itself  the  stage  direction  or 
business  is  uncommonly  meagre.  This  goes  far  to  prove 
that  the  Action  of  a  play  provides  business  without  the 
need  of  its  being  prescribed  in  every  case.  It  confirms  the 
warning  we  have  given  the  student  not  to  think  primarily 
in  Business.  Business  is  a  detail,  a  means  of  expression, 
usually.  We  may  express  an  idea  in  many  different  ways, 
but  the  idea  is  the  one  valuable  thing,  it  matters  not  what 
synonyms  you  choose.  An  author  may  depend  upon  his 
conception  of  a  scene  for  the  appropriate  behavior  of  the 
characters.  Varville  is  seen,  as  the  first  act  opens,  sitting, 
Nanine  arranging  the  furniture.  Let  us  assume  that  bet- 
ter Business  could  be  devised ;  still,  why  should  Dumas,  at 
this  point,  have  taken  out  his  tape  line  and  measured  the 
distance  between  the  two,  and  the  number  of  steps  re- 
quired for  each  movement?  Let  the  stage  manager  do 
14 


210  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

that.  I  The  Business  as  to  the  bundle  is  essential  and  it  is 
noted  by  the  author.  Nichette  comes  for  certain  work,  and 
there  it  is  in  the  bundle.  It  is  a  bit  of  Objectivity.  It  has 
to  be.  Camille,  entering,  throws  her  cloak  on  a  chair.  The 
luxury  of  the  opera  cloak  and  the  manner  of  throwing  it 
aside  express  character  and  habit  and  provide  appropriate 
Business  for  Camille's  entrance.  The  value  of  Business 
largely  consists  in  the  little  incidental  something  to  do. 
It  helps  to  divert  the  mind  of  the  audience  from  what 
would  otherwise  become  plain  artificiality  in  the  play  it- 
self. But  much  of  it  is  so  natural  that  there  is  nothing 
technical  about  it.  Varville  rises  and  bows,  a  matter  of 
course.  He  goes  and  sits  at  the  fire ;  she  goes  to  the  piano 
and  plays.  She  wants  to  get  rid  of  him,  and  bids  him 
good-night.  He  wants  to  stay.  The  Business  is  not  for  the 
sake  of  Business,  but  it  is  good  Business,  and  it  demon- 
strates how  much  better  it  is  to  go  e-^en  further  than  Mere 
Business,  that  it  is  a  matter  of  course  to  find  and  devise 
Business  from  the  opportunities  at  hand.  There  was  the 
piano,  the  fireplace.  We  may  well  imagine  Dumas  taking 
advantage  of  them  for  Business,  but  he  was  not  thinking 
in  Business.  He  had  an  idea  to  express.  Here  is  a  very 
good  example  of  how  to  devise  Business  for  the  better 
expression  of  an  idea.  But  it  is  not  primarily  thinking  in 
Business.  "Ugh !  how  cold  it  is !  Monsieur  de  Varville,  do 
pray  put  some  wood  on  the  fire,  I  am  frozen  here.  Make 
yourself  useful,  for  you  are  not  agreeable."  Varville  fixes 
the  fire.  While  the  professional  author  tries  to  provide  the 
characters  with  something  to  do  all  the  while,  the  pri- 
mary object  of  this  is  to  remind  the  audience  of  Camille's 
state  of  health.  Varville's  drumming  on  the  piano  has  an- 
other purpose  also  than  Mere  Business,  but  it  is  an  excel- 
lent means,  by  way  of  Business,  of  bringing  out  Camille's 
impatience  at  his  presence.  It  is  words  and  feeling  plus 
Business.  Naturally  it  is  more  effective  than  if  it  were 
confined  to  words  only.  If  left  to  words  it  would  have 
been  a  repetition  without  variety  of  expression.     Dumas 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT   MERE   BUSINESS  211 

undoubtedly  thought  of  the  piano  as  a  bit  of  Business,  but 
in  a  secondary  way.  Still,  the  operation  of  the  dramatist's 
mind  shows  how  the  use  of  Business  becomes  a  living  prin- 
ciple. Dumas  also  invented  Business  for  bringing  the  flip- 
pant characters  on  at  the  close.  This  device  is  also  closely 
allied  with  the  creative  power  of  the  Objective.  It  is 
Objectivity  and  Business  when  Prudence  gives  Camille  the 
bank  notes  in  the  opening  of  the  Second  Act.  Whether 
Camille  should  be  standing  or  sitting  when  Armand  enters 
is  perhaps  material  in  that  she  is  not  prepared  to  show  her 
emotion  or  any  eagerness  to  see  Armand.  When  Camille 
says  "It  has  been  a  beautiful  day,"  Armand's  business  is  to 
look  out  of  the  window.  It  is  not  absolutely  necessary,  but 
it  indicates  the  dramatic  tendency  to  connect  incidental 
things,  visible  expression.  It  is  something  in  addition  to 
the  thought  which  is  in  itself  adequate.  It  is  something 
among  the  many  things  which  the  actor  may  well  add.  To 
whom  hath  (the  author)  shall  be  given.  Again  we  see  the 
tendency  to  add  to  and  illustrate  in  every  convenient  way 
when  Varville  looks  at  his  watch  in  saying  that  he  was 
punctual.  Camille  could  have  recounted  her  debts  in  a  way, 
but  the  tendency  to  objective  illustration  involving  Busi- 
ness is  seen  in  the  use  of  the  account  book.  Looking  at  the 
watch  is  a  matter  of  course  and  involves  no  creative  Busi- 
ness. The  change  from  a  shawl  to  a  wrap  was  never  in  the 
world  invented  merely  for  Business.  Tearing  the  letter  is 
good  Business.  The  natural  Business  for  the  talk  between 
Camille  and  her  simple  friends,  Gustave  and  Nichette,  is  to 
sit  close  together.  Observe  that  little  or  no  Business  is  in- 
dicated in  the  great  scene  between  Duval  and  Camille; 
nearly  all  is  left  to  the  actor;  at  the  last  moment  he  must 
be  relied  upon  to  give  outward  and  visible  expression  to 
the  inward  and  spiritual  emotion.  Thus  the  limitations  of 
author  and  actor  are  clear,  their  functions  delimited,  the 
difference  between  creative  and  interpretative  Business  is 
plain.  In  the  Fourth  Act,  Armand,  when  he  meets  Gus- 
tave, takes  his  hand.     The  author  thought  it  worth  while 


212  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

to  make  the  point.  That  is  something  that  he  did  not  leave 
to  the  actor.  Again,  we  have  the  Objective  and  Business 
hand  in  hand,  the  invention  of  the  author  something  not 
left  to  the  actor,  something  creative.  In  the  fifth  act,  look- 
ing at  the  clock,  placing  the  pillow,  giving  the  purse,  &c., 
are  matters  of  course.^  There  is  nothing  particularly  crea- 
tive except  the  flowers  taken  from  the  casket,  teusiness  is 
a  good  servant,  but  a  poor  master.  The  absu¥"^ities,  hor- 
rors and  dangers  of  Business  for  the  sake  of  Business  can 
be  better  explained  in  some  other  relation, 
f'^'^he  Business  expressly  indicated  in  "Still  Waters  Run 
I  Deep"  would  bear  a  small  proportion  to  the  Business  that 
we  would  see  in  its  actual  production.  Of  course,  a  good 
part  of  this  additional  Business  would  be  implied  in  the 
lines,  but  the  author  has  only  put  down  such  Business  as 
he  thought  the  best  expression  of  the  moment.  No  part 
of  the  Plot  proper  in  this  play  is  left  entirely  to  Business,  is 
it?  Some  of  its  Business  is  famous.  It  may  not  have  been 
originated  by  Taylor,  but  it  has  come  into  universal  use. 
At  one  time,  Business  with  a  cigar  became  a  positive  nuis- 
ance on  the  stage.  Nothing  could  be  more  effective,  it  is 
true,  than  Mildmay's  "seating  himself  comfortably  in  an 
easy  chair,  putting  his  legs  on  another  chair  and  lighting 
a  cigar."  Quite  a  sedative  is  a  cigar.  It  belongs  to  one's 
moments  of  ease  and  unconcern.  Holding  it  between  the 
fingers  and  lighting  it  with  a  match  is  surely  a  test  of  com- 
posure, when  a  firm  hand  shows  no  tremor.  Hawksley 
knew  the  trick,  for  it  is  he  who  does  as  is  described.  "You 
have  no  objection  to  smoke?"  Mildmay:  "None  in  the 
world."  Hawksley :  "Now,  my  dear  sir,  fire  away."  Mild- 
may  "sits,  and  then  in  a  very  calm  voice  after  watching 
him,"  begins  his  statement.  We  then  have  the  Business  of 
Hawksley's  "starting,"  "appearing  uneasy,"  "puffing  at  his 
cigar  with  an  effort;"  Mildmay's  "taking  out  his  cigar  case, 
lighting  his  cigar  by  Hawksley's."  Mildmay  has  beaten 
Hawksley  at  his  own  trick  of  self-composure  and  firm 
nerves.     Hawksley  falls  back  into  his  chair  after  Mildmay 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT   U^t   BUSINESS  213 

announces  that  Hawksley  is  a  forger,  and  then  with  an 
effort  denies  it.  After  another  speech  from  Mildmay, 
Hawksley  "rises"  as  he  tells  Mildmay  that  he  lies.  If  this 
Business  of  rising  had  not  been  indicated  by  Taylor,  no 
actor  would  have  failed  to  introduce  it,  for  Hawksley  was 
ready  to  proceed  to  extremities.  Indeed,  he  aims  a  "blow 
at  Mildmay  which  he  stops  and  forces  Hawksley  down  into 
an  easy  chair."  Taylor  took  no  chances  on  the  actor  not 
rising,  for  he  wanted  the  Business  of  Mildmay's  forcing 
Hawksley  into  the  chair.  He  also  indicates  the  Business 
minutely  as  to  Hawksley's  "rising,  going  around  the  table, 
and  taking  notes  out  of  the  drawer."  Mildmay's  position 
being  indicated  as  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table.  Mildmay 
counts  out  notes  and  gives  him  the  shares.  Hawksley 
''takes  bundle  of  letters  from  drawer,  and  throws  them 
down  on  table."  Taylor  considers  it  important  to  make 
these  points.  He  considers  it  worth  while  indicating  that 
Mildmay  "counts  letters."  He  was  giving  the  actor  oppor- 
tunity after  opportunity  to  show  how  firm  his  nerves  were. 
Hawksley  "puts  letters  into  an  envelope  and  is  about  to 
light  taper."  Mildmay  observes  that  Hawksley's  hand 
shakes,  "takes  matches  from  him  and  lights  taper."  Taylor 
permits  Hawksley  to  "seal  the  packet  and  hand  it  to  Mild- 
may." Hawksley  "examines  the  bill,  then  burns  it  by 
taper,  and  throws  it  to  the  ground  stamping  on  it."  Mild- 
may "takes  his  hat  from  table."  All  this  is  good  Business, 
and  was  so  plain  to  Taylor  that  he  put  it  down.  In  fact, 
where  Hawksley  lifts  up  his  hand  as  if  about  to  strike  him, 
there  are  no  words  in  the  text  to  indicate  that  Action,  and 
to  call  forth  what  Mildmay  says,  "don't  try  that  on  again,  I 
may  be  less  patient  the  second  time.  I  might  send  you 
into  the  street  without  the  trouble  of  going  down  stairs, 
there's  two  story's  fall,  not  to  speak  of  area  spikes;  you 
might  hurt  yourself/^  A  little  later  on  Hawksley  says, 
''do  you  wish  to  provoke  me  to  murder  you?"  Taylor  in- 
dicates the  Business  to  accompany  this  line  as  "grinding 
his  teeth."     Perhaps  it  is  not  always   feasible   for   every 


214  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINC1PI.E: 

actor  playing  Hawksley  to  carry  out  this  stage  direction. 
It  would  be  all  right  to  substitute  any  other  convenient 
Business.  pThis  scene  closes  with  Business  accompanied 
^by  no  text  whatever:  "Hawksley  seems  to  meditate  a  rush, 
but  checks  himself,  and  stands  biting  his  lips  and  tremb- 
V  ling  all  over."  This  scene  is  written  largely  with  reference 
^to  its  Business,  and  the  business  is  very  properly  minutely 
indicated.  It  is  such  an  easy  matter  for  any  author  to  pro- 
vide all  the  Business  that  is  absolutely  essential,  and  it  is 
so  incidental  and  so  ready  at  hand,  that  it  takes  care  of 
itself.  At  the  same  time,  if  we  hold  in  mind  the  relative 
positions  and  emotions  of  the  Characters,  we  must  see  ta 
it  that  not  only  the  responsive  Business  is  implied  in  the 
text,  but  we  must  provide  a  lifelikeness  by  giving  the 
Characters  some  occupation  that  is  helpful  to  the  illusion. 
For  instance,  in  the  opening  scene,  Mildmay  is  seated  at  the 
writing  table  looking  at  a  book.  The  ^ole  disposition  of 
the  Characters  as  the  curtain  rises  gives  opportunities  for 
the  Business  of  the  Scene.  The  writer  must  have  a  vivid 
enough  conception  of  what  will  happen  on  the  stage  to  give 
sufficient  form  to  the  picture  that  he  will  present  to  the 
stagemanager  who  will  take  the  manuscript  in  hand,  and 
thereby  guard  against  misconceptions.  The  stagemanager 
might  change  all  the  Business,  but  he  would  at  least  have 
the  advantage  of  the  author's  picture  and  Business.  Tay- 
lor's Business  is  good,  but  by  far  the  chief  merit  lies  in  the 
text  and  in  the  management  of  his  spiritual  Action.  It  is 
worth  while  to  note  that  there  is  no  Business  here  for  the 
mere  sake  of  Business.  Taylor  did  not  have  Emily  "knot 
the  handkerchief  and  bring  it  down  smartly  on  Mildmay's 
face"  merely  for  the  sake  of  a  laugh,  which  Business  is 
very  often  provocative  of.  This  Business  was  merely  or 
mainly  to  provide  for  the  Exit  of  Mildmay.  Throughout 
the  play  we  may  note  that  the  Exits  are  often  made  on 
lines  fitting  to  the  Action  or  Character.  Emily  was  going 
out  of  the  room  anyhow,  but  the  words  for  her  exit  are 
occasioned  by  her  seeing  her  husband  with  his  coat  off  in 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT   MERE   BUSINESS  21 5 

the  garden,  which  causes  her  to  say,  "Oh !  what  a  contrast 
to  Hawksley!  Heigh  ho!"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  Busi- 
ness indicated  or  implied  in  the  scene  between  Hawksley 
and  Emily.  "Taking  stage  backwards  and  forwards" 
and  "both  going  up  stage"  is  very  familiar  Business. 
The  Business  of  Mildmay's  painting  the  trellis  while 
on  the  ladder  was  necessarily  introduced  because  he  was 
to  overhear  a  conversation  by  accident.  The  Business  sug- 
gested itself,  but  it  was  not  for  the  sake  of  Business  that 
it  was  introduced.  In  the  scene  between  Potter  and  Mild- 
may,  when  Mildmay  tells  Potter  that  he  has  not  the  slight- 
est objection  to  the  purchase  of  fifty  more  shares  of  Hawk- 
sley's  stock,  "he  goes  up  for  his  hat,  &c."  This  Business 
was  in  order  to  permit  Mildmay  to  assume  indifference. 
This  is  a  small  point,  and  shows  the  difference  between 
mere  incidental  Business  and  Business  with  a  purpose  of 
its  own.  There  is  Action  in  this  Business,  for  the  audience 
gets  a  point  on  Mildmay's  state  of  mind.  Taylor  indicates 
the  Business  of  Hawksley's  "looking  at  his  watch"  as  he 
says  "half-past  twelve  o'clock."  Without  this  stage  direc- 
tion, an  actor  who  would  not  look  at  his  watch  or  a  clock 
or  hear  a  distant  bell,  would  not  understand  the  first  rudi- 
ments of  his  business.  It  is  peculiarly  the  actor's  part  to 
furnish  Business.  Mrs.  Sternhold,  in  the  second  act,  when 
Mildmay  enters,  "crosses  to  R.,  resumes  her  seat  and 
pours  out  tea,  &c."  The  actress  is  always  happy  at  a  tea 
table.  Taylor  has  indicated  just  sufficient  Business  there 
to  determine  one  or  two  little  points.  He  could  well  rely 
upon  the  actor  to  furnish  plenty  of  Business  "at  a  tea 
table."  The  actor-author  writing  a  play  with  a  tea  table 
in  it  usually  loses  all  his  bearings,  and  sacrifices  much  that 
should  be  in  the  text  to  Business.  We  need  not  go  into 
every  bit  of  Business  indicated  in  this  play.  Hawksley's 
"sitting  on  corner  of  table"  is  familiar  Business.  The  Busi- 
ness at  the  opening  of  the  third  act  where  Mrs.  Sternhold, 
Mrs.  Mildmay  and  Potter  are  occupied  in  preparing  the 
letters  putting  off  the  dinner  is  natural  and  requires  no 


2l6  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

discussion.     The  play  has  been  popular  in  its  use  for  the 
last  fifty  years  largely  by  reason  of  its  Business. 

"A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  is  a  great  acting 
play,  and  consequently  the  opportunities  for  Business 
must  be  good.  But  Massinger  did  not  write  for  the 
sake  of  Business.  He  gives  very  little  Business,  but  a  great 
deal  of  it,  all  that  an  actor  can  invent,  is  implied  in  the 
lines  and  the  situations.  A  stagemanager  could  take  this 
manuscript  and  fill  it  with  indicated  Business.  He  could  do 
it  a  great  deal  better  than  you  could,  if  you  were  inex- 
perienced, but  you  too  could  do  much  in  that  direction. 
The  ordinary  stagemanager  would  give  the  positions  of 
the  characters  on  the  stage  and  have  them  cross  and  rise 
and  sit  with  a  greater  variety  and  propriety,  technically, 
than  you  could,  but  you  might  interpret  the  lines  even 
better  than  he.  "Raising  his  cudgel,"  Wellborn  finally 
"beats  Tap  well  over  to  L."  Between  these  two  points 
there  is  no  Business  indicated.  They  talk  at  some  length 
Wellborn,  for  the  most  part,  listening.  He  controls  him- 
self. Why?  Is  it  to  permit  Massinger  to  get  certain  facts 
before  the  audience?  It  could  appear  so  if  it  were  not  for 
the  Business  to  be  supplied  by  the  actor.  There  is  no  di- 
rect explanation  given  in  the  text.  Wellborn  is  filled  with 
emotions  of  various  kinds.  They  must  be  expressed  in 
some  way,  facially,  by  posture,  &c.  He  is  amazed,  for  one 
thing,  at  the  impudence  and  ingratitude  of  Tapwell.  He 
wants  to  see  how  far  he  will  go.  He  is  not  hesitating 
whetlj^rjie\  shall  beat  him  or  not.  Perhaps  he  did  not  hesi- 
tate a  moment  when  Tapwell  spoke  of  the  bailiff.  Vv^hy 
should  not  Wellborn  remind  him  of  what  he  had  done  for 
him  before  he  laid  the  "rough  stick  on  him?"  When  the 
tapster  recited  the  history  of  Old  Sir  John,  why  should  not 
Wellborn  sink  into  meditation  for  a  moment?  Tapwell  has 
never  spoken  in  this  way  and  with  such  command  of  words 
before.  Why  is  Wellborn  not  puzzled  a  little  by  the  cir- 
cumstance? "Some  curate  hath  penned  this  invective,  and 
you  have  studied  it."    "Offers  him  money."    The  Business 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT   MERE   BUSINESS  21/ 

is  essential.  It  is  inevitable,  a  matter  of  course  in  acting, 
and  a  very  different  thing  from  the  mere  gestures  of  elocu- 
tion. "In  a  line  across."  See  the  authority  of  Order  at 
once.  "Crosses  to  Furnace  and  shakes  hands."  Massinger 
probably  did  not  put  that  in  the  manuscript.  A  stagemana- 
ger  v^ould  have  done  so,  for  he  writes  primarily  from  the 
point  of  view  of  Business.  Note  the  stagemanager's  direc- 
tions for  the  reception  of  Allworth  by  the  servants :  "All- 
worth  crosses  to  Furnace;  Allworth  crosses  to  Order; 
crosses  to  Amble;  crosses  R. ;  Order  retires  up  R."  All 
this  in  six  sentences  or  speeches.  When  Sir  Giles  enters, 
with  others,  "Marrall  goes  behind  to  R."  It  disperses  the 
Overreach  group,  makes  them  stand  out  singly  when  re- 
quired in  the  changing  picture,  and  permits  Sir  Giles  and 
Marrall  to  "confer  apart"  while  Greedy  has  his  talk  about 
the  food.  Sir  Giles  "crosses,  followed  by  Marrall"  when 
Sir  Giles  denounces  Wellborn.  "Marrall  eyeing  Wellborn 
contemptuously, — who  takes  a  chair  and  sits,  C."  This 
may  not  be  Massinger.  But  good  points  are  made  in  this 
stage-direction.  Now,  the  Business  for  Greedy,  implied 
only  and  not  expressed,  is  as  good  as  that  expressed  for 
Marrall.  How  would  he  say  that  he  would  grant  the  war- 
rant? with  perfect  indifference,  not  with  a  withering  look 
at  Wellborn,  for  he  is  thinking  of  his  eating,  and  at  once 
turns  as  he  makes  his  exit,  all  grace  and  full  of  hope  for 
culinary  favors,  to  the  cook:  "Think  of  pye-corner.  Fur- 
nace !"  Rely  on  the  actor  who  plays  Greedy  to  supply  plen- 
ty of  good  Business.  How  much  better  Wellborn  can  utter 
"This  is  rare,"  if  he  is  sitting.  Imagine  him  stretching  out 
his  legs,  relaxed,  the  tattered  gentleman  feeling  a  bit  like 
himself.  He  "starts  up"  only  when  Amble  threatens  to 
use  bodily  force.  Remember  that  he  is  sitting  center.  He 
remains  a  picture.  It  would  be  bad  Business  indeed  if  he 
were  moving  about.  The  Business  is  so  good  that  Mas- 
jeinger  must  have  so  conceived  the  happenings.  After  a 
/business  he  sees  everything  as  it  happens.  Then  he  neces- 
^dramatist  has  the  mechanism  of  his  play  and  reaches  the 


2l8  ANAIvYSIS    O^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.K 

sarily  thinks  in  Business,  but  not  merely  for  the  sake  of 
Business.  If  he  is  borrowing  something  from  some  other 
play,  or,  as  an  actor-author,  from  some  reminiscence,  he 
thinks  Business  for  its  own  sake  primarily.  Let  us  refer  to 
the  original.  I  find  that  the  Business  is  not  there.  Proba- 
bly Kean  put  it  in.  Kean  was  an  actor  of  genius.  This 
play  has  been  greatly  bettered  in  the  acting  edition.  It 
would  seem  to  appear,  when  we  make  a  comparison  of  the 
acting  version  with  the  original,  that  the  actor  of  the  period 
of  the  play,  in  his  art,  like  the  author,  relied  much  upon  the 
words.  The  proof  is  clear  here  that  not  so  much  import- 
ance was  attached  to  Business  at  that  time  as  now.  But, 
even  if  we  assume  that  Massinger  conceived  different  Busi- 
ness, we  may  rest  easy  that  it  was  effective.  The  offering 
of  the  pocketbook  is  implied  as  explained  in  similar  condi- 
tions. The  original  or  one  of  the  early  editions  has  the 
Business,  "Whispers  to  her,"  just  before  she  says,  "Noth- 
ing else?"  This  is  omitted  in  the  present  version.  It  is  a 
proper  stage  direction  when  "Lady  Allworth  signs  to  the 
servants,  who  retire  to  the  top  of  the  stage."  This  is  im- 
plied, but  one  must  read  between  the  lines.  "Placing  hand 
on  Marrall's  shoulder"  is  a  small  point,  but  fitting.  Other 
Business  in  this  act  is  a  matter  of  course.  "Speaking  off 
as  he  enters"  is  still  a  much  used  Business  in  our  day  and 
always  will  be.  Sir  Giles  "walks  around  Margaret,  and  re- 
mains on  her  L."  He  is  inspecting  her  in  "these  orient 
pearls  and  diamonds  well  placed,  too."  He  would  prefer 
her  in  another  gown  which  he  describes.  It  is  a  modern 
interpolation  that  "Greedy  enters,  R.,  with  a  napkin  around 
his  neck,  and  a  dumpling  in  his  hand,"  and  later  with  a 
towel  and  then  with  "a  napkin  under  his  chin."  Greedy 
starts  to  the  dinner  table;  Marrall  stops  him.  Sir  Giles 
"leans  on  back  of  the  chair"  as  he  pictures  to  Lord  Lovell 
the  advantages  offered  by  the  match  with  Margaret.  The 
Business  is  not  absolutely  essential,  but  it  is  good,  proba- 
bly Kean's.  The  last  act  necessarily  involves  and  implies 
much  Business,  for  it  is  a  great  acting  opportunity,  particu- 


ACTION    (drama)    is   NOT   MERIJ   BUSINESS  21^ 

larly  for  Sir  Giles.  Massinger  may  have  conceived  it  all 
differently,  and  it  is  obvious  or  demonstrable  that,  in  cer- 
tain passages,  he  did  not  have  the  same  Business  in  mind 
at  all.  But  the  opportunity  for  it  was  afforded  by  the  dra- 
matist. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


ACTION  (DRAMA)  IS  NOT  PRIMARILY  A  MATTER 
OF  WORDS. 

Assuming  that  the  author  of  "Ingomar"  (as  did  the 
author  of  each  of  the  other  plays  in  the  list)  made  his 
division  into  acts  and  scenes,  then  framed  his  scenario,  be- 
fore beginning  the  actual  composition  or  wording  of  his  play, 
it  must  be  evident  to  you  that  Words  are  a  secondary  con- 
sideration. By  referring  to  the  definition  of  a  Drama  in 
**The  Technique"  you  w^ill  see  that  Words  are  but  one  of 
the  means  of  expression.  What  has  been  said  about  Busi- 
ness applies  largely  to  Words.  There  are  millions  of  words 
and  combinations  of  words,  but  the  combination  of  emo- 
tions and  happenings  in  a  play  are  infinitely  more  limited. 
A  play  is  written  by  means,  primarily  of  the  emotions,  of 
the  relationship  of  the  characters  and  of  those  happenings 
that  find  play  in  the  structure  and  which  cause  and  require 
structure  and  delimitation  into  scenes.  >The  words  used  .in 
mapping  out  your  Play,  for  example,  are  merely  descrip- 
tive ;  and  words  become  of  importance  only  when,  your  play 
being  to  all  intents  and  purposes  already  practically  com- 
pleted, you  must  give  speech  to  your  characters.  This 
is  the  important  one  point  to  be  learned  in  this  division  of 
our  study.  Things  are  important  in  the  drama  as  you  reach 
them.  Never  begin  writing  a  play  by  means  of  Words.  Re- 
member that  the  drama  is  full  of  economies ;  the  stage  set- 
ting, the  business,  the  dress,  what  has  happened  before  the 
Action — ^and  hundreds  of  things  that  obviate  the  use  of 
words  or  the  necessity  of  them.  They  are  to  be  used  only 
when  jie^essary.  That  the  play  is  largely  written  by  means 
of  the  emotions  and  technically  by  means  of  scenes,  as  we 
shall  see,  may  be  illustrated  by  the  anecdote  told  of  a  cer- 
tain British  Lord  who,  in  commenting  on  a  celebrated  scene 
in  blank  verse  in  a  popular  play  of  the  day,  contended  that 


ACTION   IS   NOT   PRIMARILY  A   MATTER   OF   WORDS         221 

the  words  were  fustian,  and  wagered  that  he  could  supply 
the  scene,  as  to  its  long  speech,  with  words  meaning  abso- 
lutely nothing,  and  that  the  actress,  in  delivering  them, 
with  the  same  passion,  would  at  least  get  equal  applause. 
It  was  tried  and  the  applause  was  even  greater,  the  actress 
having  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  wager.  The  situation 
and  the  emotion  were  the  real,  definite  and  effective  ele- 
ments. Take  any  one  of  the  plays  in  the  list  and  cut  out 
as  many  words  and  lines  as  you  think  you  safely  can  do 
without  destroying  the  Action,  and  you  will  see  the  force 
of  the  statement  that  words  alone  do  not  make  a  play. 
Learn  to  abhor  words  as  words.  The  value  of  words  we 
shall  appreciate  in  their  proper  use,  when  we  reach  Dia- 
logue. 

That  words  are,  in  a  measure,  elements  in  a  drama  is 
apparent  from  the  very  definition  of  a  drama,  but  we  have 
seen  that  a  play  is  constructed  before  there  is  any  occasion 
for  Words.  The  limitation  of  this  element  will  be  fully 
discussed  later  on.  In  analyzing  plays  see  wherein  Words 
are  used  falsely,  taking  the  place  of  proper  construction  and 
the  thing  itself.  There  is  no  illustration  of  their  misuse  in 
"The  Lady  of  Lyons"  except  by  way  of  superfluity  and 
bombast^  If  Bulwer  had  been  relying  upon  Words,  he 
T'would  have  had  Beauseant,  in  his  talk  with  Glavis, 
say  that  he  knew  a  means  of  revenge,  that  he  knew 
a  gardener's  son,  Melnotte,  that  he  was  called  Prince 
by  the  peasantry,  &c.  He  would  have  destroyed  the 
dramatic  qualities  of  the  Action  in  every  direction.  On  the 
contrary,  he  lets  the  facts  take  the  place  of  Words.  Surely, 
Words  are  abundant  in  Melnotte's  description  of  his  pal- 
ace, but  they  are  merely  incidental  to  a  definite  purpose. 
It  is  the  scene  and  the  idea  that  do  the  business 
and  not  the  words  as  words.  Words  are  means  of  expres- 
sion only,  subordinate  always.  To  avoid  Words  Business 
is  often  used,  as  where  Melnotte  throws  away  his  brush 
at  the  easel.  They  are  connected  with  Facts  and  thus 
have  a  concreteness.     He.  had  sent  the  rarest  flowers  to 


222  ANAI^YSIS   01?  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPI,E 

Pauline,  as  we  know.  He  had  sent  verses  signed  by  his 
own  name  and  expects  the  return  of  his  messenger.  If 
Words  had  an  unlimited  value,  he  could  give  an  indefinite 
number  of  reasons  why  he  thought  Pauline  would  receive 
his  suit  with  favor.  The  fact  that  Melnotte  has  succeeded 
in  gaining  the  favor  of  Pauline  and  her  mother  is  told  in 
words  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  act,  but  it  is  a  logical 
statement  of  a  fact  that  we  accept,  and  is  accompanied  by 
concrete  things.  It  does  not  take  the  place  of  what  should 
have  been  shown.  Words  appear  in  a  badly  written  play 
in  the  form  of  talk  without  Action,  examples  of  which 
must  be  found  elsewhereJi  Macready,  with  his  great  stage- 
craft, revised  this  play,  and  little  has  been  left  to  cut.  He 
no  doubt  did  a  great  deal  of  cutting  out  of  the  surplusage 
from  the  original  manuscript. 

x^  Dumas  has  himself  said  that  a  difficulty  in  pla)rwriting 
is,  not  what  to  say,  so  much  as  what  not  to  say.  It  is  not 
likely,  then,  that  we  would  find  unnecessary  words  in  his 
play.  Here  and  there  we  might  cut  without  destroying  the 
Action,  but  we  would  reduce  it.  Words  become  the  me- 
dium of  theAction  after  the  other  mediums  have  been 
established.y  It  is  by  means  of  the  construction  that  Dumas 

Ifavoided  the  use  of  Words  as  Words  and  finally  reached 
them  with  an  almost  independent,  primary  purpose  and 
function.  Had  he  not  introduced  Nichette  by  means  of  a 
scene,  the  scene  accomplishing  something  else  besides  in- 
troducing her,  he  would  have  been  compelled  to  resort  to 
Words  to  describe  her  and  her  relations  to  Camille  and 
Gustave.  He  would  have  had  Words  taking  the  place 
of  Action  and  Objectivity,  and  we  would  have  missed  that 
Indirectness  which  conveys  the  fact  of  the  friendship  be- 
tween Camille  and  Nichette  and  why  they  were  friends. 
They  formerly  worked  together,  and  here  is  the  working 
girl  coming  after  work  left  iof  her.  It  is  not  impossible  that 
these  facts  could  have  been  conveyed  by  words  in  some 
other  connection,  but  if  left  entirely  or  mainly  to  Words 
the  effect  would  be  diminished  in  proportion  to  the  lack 


ACTION   IS   NOT   PRIMARILY  A  MATTER  OF   WORDS        223 

of  the  Other  qualities  pointed  out  in  the  scenes.  Suppose 
Nanine  had  thought  that  she  heard  the  bell  ring  and  re- 
marked that  it  might  be  Nichette,  but  was  mistaken,  the 
bell  not  having  been  rung;  Varville  could  have  asked  who 
Nichette  was,  and  the  Dialogue  might  have  proceeded  as 
now;  but  it  would  be  a  feeble  impression  even  if  the  audi- 
ence caught  every  word.  Dumas  had  to  rely  on  words  in 
giving  the  history  of  Camille  as  a  part  of  the  Conditions 
Precedent,  which  could  not  by  any  possibility  be  acted. 
But  those  Words  live  in  their  effect  upon  Varville  and  in 
defining  the  Action  in  the  mind  of  the  audience  with  refer- 
ence to  Varville.  If  the  conversation  had  continued  so  as 
to  include  a  description  of  the  various  friends  of  Camille, 
it  would  have  been  mere  talk  and  words.  With  an  in- 
experienced writer  what  would  there  be  to  prevent  him 
from  having  Camille  and  Varrille  enter  into  an  extended 
conversation  when  Camille  comes  on?  What  saves  the 
scene  from  Words?  The  prearranged  mechanism  of  the 
play.  The  conversation  takes  the  only  turn  it  can  and  is 
kept  within  the  limitations  o£  the  object  of  the  scene.  Every 
syllable  beyond  the  accomplishment  of  the  object  of  a  scene 
is  mere  talk,  so  many  words.  A  wrong  arrangement  in  the 
scene  or  in  the  Dialogue  itself  will  convert  everything  into 
Mere  Words.  If  Words  are  made  the  first  thing  in  the 
process  of  writing  a  play  it  will  inevitably  fall  into  Words. 
While  Construction  prevents  the  process  of  mere  Words, 
which  is  the  instinct  of  the  mind  not  trained  to  the  dra- 
matic, the  proper  Sequence  of  ideas  promotes  the  economy 
of  the  moment.  These  ideas  are  distributed  so  as  to  appear 
at  the  right  time  and  with  the  greatest  effect.  Prudence 
calls  from  her  window  that  "a  young  man  whom  I  have 
not  seen  for  a  long  time  has  just  stepped  in  to  see  me,  and 
I  cannot  leave  him  alone."  "Then  bring  him  along,"  says 
Camille.  Could  not  Prudence  have  given  his  name  and  told 
all  about  him?  As  it  is,  Camille's  indifference  is  shown, 
and  we  get  a  new  turn  in  connection  with  the  actual  pres- 
-ence  of  Armand  when  he  enters.  Something  has  been  saved 


224  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

for  the  following  scenes.  The  situation  did  not  demand 
that  Prudence  should  say  more.  The  audience  knows 
nothing  of  Armand,  and  does  not  see  what  else  she  could 
say  or  why  she  shauld  say  it.  If  they  did  there  would 
be  a  sense  of  something  lacking.  The  fact  that  Prudence 
was  to  bring  a  young  man  was  enough.  Then  comes  his 
name,  then  that  he  is  "the  man  of  all  Paris  w^ho  loves  you 
most,"  then  who  his  father  is,  then  as  to  his  sister.  If  all 
these  facts  had  been  jumbled  together  in  one  speech  by 
Prudence  either  before  she  came  on  or  after  she  entered 
they  would  have  been  Words;  the  audience  would  not 
have  remembered  them,  for  the  points  would  not  have 
been  made.  There  would  have  been  a  blur  instead  of  a 
distinct  impression  with  reference  to  each  fact.  These  are 
living  facts  in  their  use  in  the  immediate  ActionJ  A  long 
history  is  told  in  the  third  scene  in  order  to  bring  out  Con- 
ditions Precedent  but  they  effect  one  thing;  these  facts 
effect  constant  change  before  the  eye.  We  have  already 
seen  why  the  talk  at  the  supper  table  is  not  Mere  Words. 
Every  Word  in  these  scenes  counts  at  the  present  moment. 
In  the  Fourth  Act,  if  Prudence  had  gossiped  about  Ca- 
mille's  extravagance  and  recklessness  in  her  mode  of  liv- 
ing, "scarcely  an  hour  at  home — operas,  balls,  suppers — 
and  as  for  sleep,  that  scarcely  visits  her  any  more,"  with 
any  character  other  than  Armand,  the  effect  would  be  lack- 
ing, and  it  would  fall  into  Words.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
Preparation  in  the  one  scene  in  the  first  act,  and  a  few 
bits  of  Preparation  in  the  course  of  the  Action,  many 
Words  of  explanation  would  be  required  for  the  scene 
between  Camille,  Nichette  and  Gustave.  In  point  of  fact, 
no  use  of  mere  words  would  have  made  the  scene  more 
effective.  This  play  is  so  compact,  its  construction  is  so 
inevitable,  and  its  Action  so  fitting,  that  it  is  difficult  to 
frame  examples  by  way  of  changing  anything.  It  is  re- 
markable in  its  economy  of  Words.  The  fact  that  Arm- 
and's  father  is  a  judge  saves  all  description  of  Character, 
and    Gaston's    remark    that    he    was    a    gruff,    crusty    old 


ACTION    IS   NOT   PRIMARILY   A   MATTER   OF    WORDS         225 

gentleman  added  the  touch  needed.  We  know  his  social 
position,  we  know  of  his  daughter.  We  learn  that  she  is 
engaged  when  the  father  urges  the  fact  as  a  reason  why 
Camille  should  give  up  Armand.  To  have  introduced  this 
and  the  objection  of  the  girl's  parents  to  the  marriage 
earlier  would  have  been  waste  of  Words.  We  have  the 
Unexpected  by  reason  of  this  forbearance.  The  Action  at 
all  points  is  Self-Explanatory,  in  itself  a  great  saving  of 
Words.  The  Compulsion  that  determines  in  the  great 
scene  with  the  father  depends  largely  upon  what  we  have 
already  seen  and  know.  All  the  words  that  are  used  apply 
to  the  present  moment  of  the  Action.  The  Indirection  used 
also  obviates  the  use  of  Words.  The  character  of  Olimpe 
is  particularly  notable  for  the  absolute  economy  of  Words. 
It  is  not  what  is  said  about  her,  but  what  she  does  and  in- 
cidentally says.  The  play  was  plainly  worked  out  in  all 
its  parts  before  the  Dialogue  was  written.  It  is  true  that 
Dumas  dramatized  it  from  his  novel,  but  he  wrote  with 
reference  to  Drama  and  recast  the  material  when  he  put 
it  into  dramatic  form.  Economy  of  Words  by  means  of 
Business  is  to  be  noted  particularly  in  the  last  act. 

An  inordinate  use  of  Words  usually  comes  from  defec- 
tive structure.  The  play  having  been  built  and  being  com- 
plete in  its  outlines,  the  scenes  which  we  are  to  clothe  with 
Words  having  been  provided,  we  come  to  a  distinct  danger. 
The  inexperienced  writer  who  may  have  acquired  his  art 
up  to  the  point  of  Dialogue,  if  not  fully  acquainted 
with  the  principles  governing  Words,  would  then  upset 
all  the  good  work  he  had  done  before.  It  is  in  the  Dialogue 
which  is  carried  out  by  Words  that  his  judgment  and  tech- 
nique must  again  control  him.  We  shall  give  parts  of  the 
Dialogue  of  the  first  scene  in  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  in 
a  way  that  the  amateur  might  give  it,  indicating  by  brack- 
ets the  superfluous  words  that  he  might  use. 

Mildmay. 

[It  is  a  very  tedious  evening,  I  have  tried  to  introduce 
15 


226  ANAI^YSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

several  topics  of  conversation,  but  all  of  you  seem  to  be 
grumpy.  They  say  music  has  charms  to  soothe  the  savage 
breast,  and  I  do  not  see  why  the  piano  should  stand  idle. 
I  have  heard  it  said  that  wherever  you  find  a  piano  you 
find  a  happy  home.]  Suppose,  Emily,  you  give  us  a  little 
music? 

Mrs.   Sternhold. 

[And  it  is  a  very  good  piano  indeed,  but  no  thanks  to 
you,  I  selected  it  myself  and  gave  a  hundred  pounds  for  it. 
What  care  you  for  music  ?  Asking  Emily  to  give  us  a  little 
music!]  Nonsense!  that  you  may  have  an  opportunity  of 
snoring  without  detection,  Mr.  Mildmay. 

Mildmay. 

(Deprecatingly)  [I  do  not  think  I  snore  in  the  way  to 
disturb  people,  bul  we  shall  let  that  pass].  I  think  perhaps 
Emily  [who  is  so  fond  of  playing  the  piano]  might  indulge 
tne  with  Auld  Robin  Gray. 

Mrs.  Mildmay. 

[Listen  to  the  man  talking!]  Auld  Robin  Gray!  Now, 
Aunt,  only  conceive  of  his  asking  for  a  stupid  old  melody 
like  that  [a  simple  little  thing  that  any  schoolgirl  who 
hardly  knows  her  scales  could  play.] 

Mildmay. 

[I  remember  the  time,  and  you  were  quite  a  skillful  mu- 
sician even  then,  when  you  played  it.]     You  used  to  like 
playing  it  to  me  before  we  were  married. 
Mrs.  Mildmay. 

Before  we  were  married !  when  you  know  I  adore  Beeth- 
oven, [the  divine  master  of  music.  To  play  his  pieces  re- 
quires more  skill  than  I  had  in  those  days.  I  can  assure 
you  I  have  not  had  much  to  amuse  myself  during  my  mar- 
ried life  except  to  play,  and  my  skill  is  very  much  admired 
I  shall  let  you  know] 

Mrs.   Sternhold. 

To  appreciate  Beethoven,  Emily,  requires  a  soul  for  mu- 
sic:   Mr.  Mildmay  has  no  soul  for  music.     [I  don't  believe 


ACTION   IS   NOT   PRIMARII^Y  A   MATTER  O^   WORDS         22/ 

he  can  tell  one  note  from  another ;  knowing  that  you  prefer 
the  higher  music  he  certainly  should  have  taken  some 
means  to  cultivate  himself ;  no,  he  has  no  soul  for  music] 

Potter. 
No,  no,  John,  you  know  you  haven't.     [I  heard  you  try- 
ing to  whistle  a  popular  melody  the  other  day  and  it  made 
my  teeth  stand  on  edge.] 

Mildmay. 
[Your  teeth!] 

Potter. 
[Bah!]     You  have  no  soul  for  anything, 

Mildmay. 
Very  well,   [have  it  your  own  way.]  By  the  by,  Emily, 
what  do  you  say  to  a  quiet  little  dinner  at  Richmond  to- 
morrow ? 

Mrs.  Sternhold. 
It's  quite  out  of  the  question,  Mr.  Mildmay.  [You  are  al- 
ways making  some  absurd  suggestion,  and  trying  to  dis- 
turb the  family  arrangements.]  I  can't  allow  Emily  to  go, 
[and  for  a  very  good  reason]  I  have  issued  invitations  for 
a  dinner  here. 

Mildmay. 
[I  must  say  that  you  are  always  doing  something  to  up- 
set my  calculations,  but  let  it  go.]     I  thought  as  it  was  the 
anniversary  of  our  wedding  day,  Emily,  you  would  like  a 
tete-a-tete  with  me  at  the   Star  and   Garter,    [which  you 
know  is  celebrated  for  some  of  its  dishes.] 
Mrs.  Mildmay. 
[I  know  Mr.  Mildmay,  that  you  have  an  inordinate  appe- 
tite for  good  eating,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  are  cor- 
rectly informed  about  the  excellence  of  the  food  prepared 
at  the  Star  and  Garter.    I  am  not  inclined  to  be  propitiated 

Lby  any  such  means.    If  you  cannot  make  yourself  agreeable 
at  home,  I  am  sure  that  you  cannot  away  from  home  in 
what  you  call  a  tete-a-tete.]     But  you  hear  that  it  is  quite 
impossible,  and  that  my  aunt  has  made  a  party  at  home. 
B 


228  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE) 

If  a  play  were  thus  Dialogued,  correct  in  every  way  ex- 
cept that  the  blue  pencil  would  have  to  be  drawn  through 
the  sentences  in  the  brackets,  you  may  be  sure  that  the 
expert  to  whom  it  might  be  submitted  would  unerringly 
mark  out  the  sentences  indicated  by  the  brackets.  A  num- 
ber of  these  sentences  are  simply  superfluous  in  the  matter 
of  Words.  Others  are  mere  Words,  because  divergent  from 
the  immediate  purpose  of  the  Dialogue  or  scene.  What 
we  have  given  as  the  unnecessary  use  of  words  could  also 
be  applied  to  Mere  Life.  It  would  be  an  easy  and  most 
valuable  exercise  for  the  student  to  elaborate  scenes  from 
plays,  add  superfluous  words  and  sentences,  and  then  rea- 
son it  out  why  they  are  not  essential  and  may  be  harmful 
although  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  Characters  and  the 
circumstances.  So  far  as  mere  talk  is  concerned,  the  stu- 
dent will  thereby  acquire  a  mortal  hatred  of  mere  talk  and 
mere  words.  He  will  learn  the  exacting  nature  of  the  re- 
quirement of  economy  in  this  respect  in  a  play. 

"A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  belongs  to  the 
highest  form  of  the  literary  acting  drama,  and  is  conse- 
quently much  concerned  with  Words  as  a  form  of  expres- 
sion, as  a  decidedly  technical  element  in  the  work.  In  no 
drama  are  Words  to  be  disregarded,  but  are  to  be  used  with 
reference  to  their  effect  and  importance  in  the  scheme,  and 
are  to  be  considered  seriously  at  the  time  they  become  im- 
portant in  the  dialogue.  In  the  literary  drama  the  drama- 
tist begins  to  consider  the  form  of  expression  somewhat 
earlier  than  he  does  in  the  prose  forms.  Many  of  the  pas- 
sages and  phrases  employed  by  Massinger  came  to  him  in 
his  notes.  Detached  expressions  may  occur  to  you  in 
your  material  and  be  set  down.  Structural  form  of 
course  comes  first.  From  papers  .left  by  Schiller  we  know 
that  his  method  was  to  get  his  structure  first,  to  make  out 
his  scenari6  and  then  to  translate  into  verse,  stopping  at 
times  to  work  out  complete  passages  in  verse.  We  recog- 
nize the  power  of  the  element  of  words  in  this  play,  but 
as  powerful  as  it  is,  Massinger  could  no  more  have  relied 


ACTION    IS   NOT    PRIMARILY   A   MATTER  OF    WORDS         229 

Upon  it  than  the  veriest  amateur  who  attempts  everything 
by  means  of  Words.  Note  how  fully  the  character  of  Sir 
Giles  is  built  up  by  means  of  Words  even  before  we  have 
seen  him,  but  these  descriptive  Words  belong  to  the  Action 
of  the  moment  and  advance  the  Action  of  the  play.  Tap- 
well  reminds  Wellborn  and  tells  us  of  the  time  when  Sir 
Giles,  resolving  not  to  lose  his  opportunity,  "on  statutes, 
mortgages  and  bidding  bonds,  awhile  supplied  his  folly, 
and,  having  got  his  land,  then  left  him/'  When  Wellborn 
and  Tom  AUworth  talk,  we  are  told  of  the  "cormorant," 
Overreach,  who  had  ruined  both  Wellborn  and  Allworth. 
We  learn  of  his  vast  ambition  for  his  daughter  Margaret. 
The  same  facts  could  have  been  conveyed  by  Wellborn  in 
the  opening  of  the  play  by  means  of  a  soliloquy,  and  there 
would  have  been  some  Action  in  them,  but  not  as  now, 
where  they  are  raised  to  the  Nth  power;  not  as  now  when 
they  are  in  combination  with  happenings  and  have  a  pro- 
pulsive force,  and  gather  force  always  from  their  signifi- 
cance as  to  the  past,  the  present  and  the  future.  In  the 
opening  scene  of  the  Second  Act,  the  multiplicity  of  Words 
used  by  Sir  Giles  and  Marrall  is  saved  from  being  Words, 
mainly  or  merely,  by  reason  of  the  Action.  Massinger  does 
not  put  Words  above  Action,  or  try  to  accomplish  by  means 
of  them  what  should  be  accomplished  by  Action  itself. 
Wellborn  is  not  mentioned  by  name  until  the  latter  part 
of  the  Scene,  but  the  object  of  the  scene  is  to  have  all  that 
is  said  bear  on  Wellborn,  directly  or  indirectly.  If  noth- 
ing had  been  said  about  Sir  Giles  before  the  opening  of  the 
scene  the  Action  would  not  begin  until  Wellborn  is  men- 
tioned, and  all  preceding  that  point  would  be  Words.  It  is 
the  connection  of  the  ideas  that  gives  force  to  the  Words 
spoken  of  Farmer  Frugal,  whom  we  never  see,  and  of  Jus- 
tice Greedy,  of  whom  we  now  hear  for  the  first  time,  and 
not  by  name  until  the  talk  has  advancedjif  Wellborn  or~7 
Allworth  had  described  in  any  way  tHeinsolence  of  the 
pampered  servants  at  Lady  Allworth's  (and  Massinger's 
description     would     have     been     choice),  what     is     now 


230  ANAIvYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPIvB 

Action  would  have  declined  into  Words,  for  they 
would  not  have  been  to  the  immediate  purpose.  This 
insolence  was  something  that  had  to  be  shown  and 
could  not  be  left  to  WordsJ  If  the  substance  of  what 
is  said  between  Sir  Giles  and  Marrall  had  been 
given  to  us  in  the  talk  between  Tapwell  and  Wellborn,  it 
might  have  served  to  give  us  a  definite  idea  of  Overreach's 
methods  and  his  tools,  but  it  would  have  been  out  of  place, 
in  wrong  Sequence,  and  in  that  way  have  been  Words. 
There  would  have  been  too  much  of  it,  and  therefore 
WordsJ  The  object  of  the  first  scene  of  the  play  refers 
less  to  the  Uncle  than  to  the  Nephew.  After  we  learn  the 
circumstance  and  realize  the  heartless  ingratitude  of  Tap- 
well,  we  are  impatient  to  see  Wellborn  administer  merited 
blows,  and  talk  about  Sir  Giles  would  be  mere  Words.  They 
would  leave  little  or  no  impression  or  an  impression  at 
the  wrong  time.  We  have  no  more  Words  than  are  necessary 
to  the  Action  of  the  scene.  It  is  just  as  possible  to  use  too 
few  Words  as  it  is  to  use  too  many.  Without  the  details  con- 
veyed in  the  quarrel  in  the  first  scene,  we  would  not  un- 
derstand the  circumstances ;  we  could  not  appreciate  Well- 
born's  wrath.  Every  word  concerns  the  present  in  a  vital 
way,  although  they  are  talking  largely  of  the  past,  and  it 
is  preparation  of  an  admirable  kind  for  the  future.  Words 
are  saved  by  getting  the  structure  first,  and  confining  the 
Words  to  the  object  of  the  scene.  Massinger,  in  this  way, 
did  not  write  by  means  of  Words.  Facts,  feeling  and 
character  are  conveyed  all  the  time  and  in  their  proper 
place  and  with  the  proper  effect.  The  characters  do  not 
talk  to  hear  themselves  talk,  and  Massinger  did  not  write 
for  the  mere  sake  of  writing.  The  worst  fault  of  any  writer 
in  any  form  of  literature  is  self-consciousness,  just  as  the 
damnable  sin  of  any  actor  is  self-consciousness,  and  Mas- 
singer has  not  a  bit  of  it.  All  his  gifts  were  at  the  service 
of  the  drama;  all  subdued  to  that  in  which  he  worked. 
Drama  abhors  an  abstraction  no  less  severely  than  nature 
abhors   a   vacuum.      Lady   All  worth's    description   of   the 


ACTION   IS   NOT   PRIMARILY  A   MATTER  OF   WORDS         23 1 

qualities  of  a  soldier  is  so  general  in  its  application  that  it 
could  be  used  as  widely  as  a  universal  truth  and  stand  by 
itself;  but  it  is  in  its  connection  absolutely  concrete,  a  part 
of  the  wonderfully  substantial  structure.  Note  its  many 
bearings.  She  begins  her  talk  with  her  step-son,  Tom  All- 
worth,  with  an  inquiry  about  his  "noble  master,"  and  then 
turns  to  the  giving  of  good  advice.  They  are  the  words 
of  his  own  father  that  she  repeats  to  him  about  the  true 
soldier,  and,  "to  conclude,"  as  she  says,  she  bids  him  beware 
of  evil  company.  It  all  leads  up  directly  to  warning  him 
against  companionship  with  Wellborn.  It  is  concrete  and 
practical.  It  has  also  a  subtle  bearing  on  her  admiration 
for  Allworth's  "noble  master."  It  is  a  bit  of  Preparation 
for  her  union  with  him.  It  is  not  meant  to  be  obvious  at 
the  moment,  but  when  the  time  arrives  we  are  prepared 
to  see  those  two  lofty  souls  come  together.  Lord  Lovell 
is  the  soldier  whom  she  describes  in  repeating  the  words 
of  Allworth's  father.  Lady  Allworth  says,  for  "often  men 
are  like  those  with  whom  they  do  converse."  This  is  a  pro- 
verb which  Massinger  puts  in  his  own  way.  But  see  how 
concrete  she  makes  it  in  her  application  by  immediately 
adding  "and,  from  one  man  I  warn  you,  and  that's  Well- 
born." There  is  much  in  this  play  that  is  of  universal  ap- 
plication, but  its  immediate  use  is  always  to  the  point.  The 
play,  indeed,  is  remarkable  in  seeming  to  verify  objectively 
everything  that  is  said.  The  words  at  the  time  of  utterance 
have  a  concrete  use  and  later  on  they  are  demonstrated 
Objectively.  In  the  first  scene  of  the  Second  Act,  for  ex- 
ample. Sir  Giles  declares  that  he  will  not  have  a  chamber- 
maid who  ties  Margaret's  shoes  or  does  any  meaner  office, 
but  such  whose  fathers  were  worshipful.  We  see  this  veri- 
fied when  Margaret  appears  accompanied  by  Lady  Down-  1 
fallen. ^ 


CHAPTER  XX. 


INDIRECTION  IS  THE  DRAMATIC  METHOD,  THE 
OPPOSITE  OF  STORY  TELLING. 

f  Indirectness  is  that  essential  and  distinctive  quality  in 
I  the  Drama  whereby  all  that  is  said  and  done  by  the  charac- 
N  ters  is  said  and  done  through  the  necessities  of  the  moment 
Y  and  because  the  Action  calls  for  it ;  so  that  everything  indi- 
/  rectly  reaches  the  audience  through  the  Action,  nothing  be- 
v^ing  addressed  to  it 

By  learning  how  to  do  a  thing  your  mind  acquires  the 
habit  of  doing  it  in  the  right  way,  and  if  by  chance  or  in- 
advertance  you  do  it  the  wrong  way,  that  moment  you  feel 
it.  Until  one  understands  the  principles  of  the  drama  and 
the  art  of  playwriting,  his  entire  method,  absolutely  natural 
to  him,  is  the  wrong  method.  He  naturally  expresses  him- 
self in  the  method  most  habitual  to  him.  We  commonly 
impart  our  experiences  by  narrative  and  description,  and 
in  beginning  to  write  drama  the  novice  uses  words,  and 
words  only,  the  medium  to  which  he  is  accustomed.  How- 
ever animated  his  account  of  a  happening,  it  remains  a 
description,  whereas,  so  far  as  the  Action  of  a  play  is  con- 
cerned, description  is  an  utter  impossibility.  The  drama- 
tist removes  himself  from  any  Direct  communication  with 
the  Action  and  sees  to  it,  further,  that  there  is  no  Direct 
communication  from  the  characters  to  the  audience.  What- 
ever the  characters  say  is  for  themselves  and  without  refer- 
ence to  us.  It  is  the  part  of  the  author  to  put  them  in 
relations  and  positions  where  they  have  to  say  the  desired 
things  necessary  for  the  understanding  of  the  audience  and 
the  progress  of  the  Action.  Sq  far  away  is  the  drama  from 
the  need  of  telling  things  that  its  first  care  is  to  provide 
agaTnst  words  in  every  possible  way,  by  means  of  scenery, 
the  costumes,  the  make-up,  the  mechanism  of  the  play  and 
the  Action  generally.     Every  detail  of  information  that  is 


INDIRECTION    IS   THE    DRAMATIC    METHOD  233 

imparted  to  us  is  revealed  as  if  we  did  not  exist.  Surely 
there  can  be  no  Direct  communication  with  anything 
that  does  not  exist.  The  slightest  variation  from  what 
is  implied  in  this  law  of  Indirection  is  undramatic 
and  weakens  the  Action.  We  see  that  Parthenia 
is  humble  from  the  house  of  her  parents  out 
of  which  her  mother  comes.  The  mother  tells  of  Parthe- 
nia's  character;  but  how?  By  way  of  remonstrance  with 
her,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  audience.  That  Parthenia  is  in 
love  with  no  one  is  brought  out  in  the  same  Indirect  way. 
The  smallest  details  are  thus  introduced  Indirectly,  that 
Parthenia's  father  is  a  poor  armorer,  that  the  family  is  in 
needy  circumstances,  that  the  girl  has  reached  a  marriage- 
able age,  that  she  is  no  longer  free  to  dream  and  that  she 
must  consider  a  certain  marriage.  It  is  a  great  part  of  the 
art  to  introduce  desired  facts  in  the  right  way  and  at  the 
right  time.  Here  it  is  that  Sequence  comes  into  play.  It  is 
all  Indirect.  Do  we  not  see,  in  the  first  scene  between  Par- 
thenia and  her  mother  that  her  character  is  the  exact  oppo- 
site to  what  the  mother  says?  She  is  a  loving  and  dutiful 
daughter.  The  amateur's  tendency  to  Directness  is  destruc- 
^ve  of  the  Detail,  color,  emotion  and  everything  that  gives 
the  drama  its  charm.  Ti\e.more  you  let  an  audience  see  for 
itself  the  better  pleased  it  will  be.  It  resents  as  an  im-  / 
pertinence  anything  Direct  from  author  or  character;  and  ' 
in  as  much  as  an  author  must  misuse  his  character  to  make  / 
him  speak  Directly,  there  is  a  double  iniquity  about  Direct-  \ 
ness  that  an  audience  feels,  if  it  does  not  recognize  the  j 
cause  of  its  discomfort.  ^ 

All  the  principles  are  connected  each  with  the  other.  In 
"The  Lady  of  Lyons"  the  amateur's  way  would  have  been 
to  have  Pauline's  pride  told  of  in  words  before  she  ap- 
peared, but  that  pride  is  conveyed  in  an  indirect  way  by 
showing  her  at  her  toilet  and  by  the  actual  state  of  mind 
of  the  two  women.  The  appearance  of  wealth  in  the  cir- 
cumstances and  the  incident  of  the  ordering  of  the  carriage 
tell  of  that  wealth  indirectly.     We  are  informed  that  the 


234  ANAI<YSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPIylS 

family  is  in  trade  by  Indirection  when  Beauseant  makes 
his  aside  remark.  This  Indirection  consists  in  that  nothing- 
whatever  is  told  to  the  audience,  but  is  understood  by  the 
audience  from  the  circumstances.  The  vanity  of  the  moth- 
er all  comes  out  without  a  comment.  Nobody  tells  us  that 
Damas  is  a  blunt  and  democratic  old  soldier.  It  comes  out 
in  his  rebuke  of  the  women.  It  is  by  Indirection  that  we 
learn  that  they  are  looking  for  a  prince.  The  Landlord's 
account  of  Melnotte,  that  he  is  well  to  do  and  accompished 
is  Indirection  because  it  is  not  addressed  to  the  audience  or, 
in  the  slightest  degree,  given  with  reference  to  anything 
but  the  information  of  the  questioners.  The  opening  scene 
of  act  second  is  good  Indirection.  When  Melnotte  asks 
who  planned  the  gardens,  it  Indirectly  shows  that  he  is 
playing  a  part.  What  need  was  there  for  him  to  say  in  an 
aside  to  the  audience  that  he  must  pretend  ignorance?  That 
would  have  been  a  clumsy  and  superfluous  device  of  Di- 
rectness. Damas'  suspicion  is  sufficiently  indicated  and  In- 
directly by  his  saying  that  he  had  heard  the  porter  say 
Melnotte  was  "much  like  his  highness."  A  clumsier  writer 
would  have  had  him  express  his  suspicion  definitely  and 
Directly.  Note  the  Indirectness  by  which  Pauline  discov- 
ers that  the  widow  is  Melnotte's  mother.  The  amateur 
would  go  straight  at  it  and  lose  all  his  points.  We  know 
that  Beauseant  is  lying  when  he  sends  the  widow  off  for 
Melnotte  by  the  Indirection.  When  Damas  says :  "There 
is  something  fine  in  the  rascal,  after  all,"  it  is  the  Indirect 
way  of  saying  "I  am  for  him."  In  the  opening  of  the  last 
act  the  amateur  would  have  Damas,  in  a  monologue,  tell 
about  Morier  and  what  had  happened  in  the  meanwhile. 
Bulwer  creates  characters  in  order  to  have  it  Indirect. 

"Camille"  is  of  Indirection  all  compact.  Inasmuch 
as  everything  in  a  play  must  be  indirectly  conveyed,  it  is 
not  necessary  to  call  attention  to  every  example  in  every 
line  in  "Camille."  What  reaches  an  audience  must  come- 
through  the  medium  of  the  Characters  and  not  be  directly 
imparted.  If  a  character  should  step  to  the  front  of  the  stage,. 


INDIRECTION    IS    THE    DRAMATIC    METHOD  235 

like  Bottom  the  Weaver,  and  explain  matters  to  the  audi- 
ence, it  would  be  direct.  This  may  seem  to  be  an  extreme 
case,  but  all  monologue  and  all  dialogue  not  justified  by  the 
necessity  of  the  characters  for  themselves  is  exactly  the 
same  thing.  The  characters  are  unconscious  of  the  audi- 
ence, and  by  no  possibility  can  they  convey  anything  di- 
rectly to  it.  It  may  be  said  that  scenery  and  costume  are 
direct,  but  their  relations  to  the  Action  of  the  play  depend 
upon  Indirection.  It  may  seem  at  first  that  Nanine's  ac- 
count of  Camille  is  direct,  but  it  is  not,  for  she  is  under  the 
necessity  of  explaining  to  Varville,  and  that  necessity 
would  exist  even  if  the  audience  did  not  hear  it.  If  she 
had  given  the  Story  in  a  monologue  at  the  opening  of  the 
play  without  any  apparent  necessity,  it  would  have  been 
in  the  nature  of  the  direct.  It  is  very  difficult  in  writing  a 
play  to  escape  the  exercise  of  any  and  all  of  the  principles, 
and  this  false  monologue  which  we  indicate  might  be  pre- 
pared with  a  certain  measure  of  Indirectness;  but  every- 
thing should  be  done  in  a  play  in  the  proper  way.  Tlie 
drama  is  not  satisfied  with  half  measures  and  apologetic 
art,  or  mere  artifice.  The  tendency  is  toward  perfect  art, 
and  no  dramatist  should  be  satisfied  with  that  which  is  de- 
fective. That  Nichette  is  a  working  girl  is  Indirectly 
shown  by  her  calling  for  the  bundle.  Her  affection  for 
Camille  is  indirectly  led  up  to  by  her  taking  the  bundle 
instead  of  having  it  sent  to  her,  for,  as  she  says,  ''nothing 
is  a  trouble  that  I  do  for  Camille."  The  fact  that  Camille 
is  fond  of  her  is  Indirectly  brought  out  by  Varville's  com- 
ment on  the  name  and  Nanine's  reply  that  it  was  a  pet 
name  and  that  they  are  very  fond  of  each  other.  It  imme- 
diately follows  by  Indirection  that  they  used  to  be  com- 
panions, worked  together  in  the  same  room,  and  that 
Camille  was  an  embroideress.  All  this  could  have  been 
Indirectly  told  by  Nanine  in  a  Monologue,  or  less  directly 
in  a  talk  with  Varville.  But  the  slight  indirection  would  not 
have  been  sufficient  after  the  dramatic  method.  The  work- 
man must  never  quarrel  with  his  tools.    In  the  case  of  this 


236  ANALYSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.E 

principle,  he  must  seek  the  Indirect  without  compromise. 
It  is  brought  out  Indirectly  that  Nichette  is  Avise,  in  the 
French  meaning  of  the  word,  and  that  she  is  to  be  married 
to  Gaston,  who  is  waiting  below.  Do  you  not  see  the 
value  of  this  Indirection  in  the  manner  of  furnishing  ani- 
mated Dialogue?  Story  is  commonly  long  winded,  de- 
scriptive and  without  that  vibration  between  the  speakers 
which  should  exist.  Everything  in  these  three  first  scenes 
up  to  the  Entrance  of  Camille  is  brought  out  Indirectly, 
and  yet  it  would  be  possible  to  make  it  all  direct,  in  the 
manner  indicated.  That  Camille  is  not  pleased  to  see  Var- 
ville  is  brought  out  by  Indirection  in  the  speeches  which 
pass  between  them.  t-fe.me^ns_j;)f  this  Indirectioii.^ 
DetaiU  Camille's  life  of  luxury  and  her  feverish  love  of 
pleasure  are  indirectly  conveyed  by  the  facts  that  she  has 
just  returned  from  the  opera,  has  about  her  her  rich 
cloak  and  is  expecting  friends  to  supper  with  whom  she  is 
to  continue  her  occupation  of  amusement.  These  ideas 
are  conveyed  to  the  audience  in  addition  to  the  things 
actually  seen.  To  call  the  Objectivity  of  these  things  direct 
would  not  be  wholly  true,  and  the  observation  and  thought 
of  the  audience  goes  beyond,  for  example,  the  mere  splen- 
dor of  the  cloak  and  gown.  That  Camille  is  ill  may  be  said 
to  be  conveyed  by  her  cough,  but  it  is  to  be  observed  that 
the  purpose  of  the  author  is  in  the  nature  of  Indirection, 
because  no  emphasis  is  laid  upon  the  incident.  The  par- 
ticular thing  at  this  moment  is  to  repel  Varville's  solicitude 
and  have  her  say  "I  will  be  better  when  you  are  gone."  To 
be  fully  dramatic,  the  essential  tendency  of  the  dramatic 
is  to  be  followed  even  in  details.  Thus  it  would  be  Direct 
if  she  should  say  at  once,  "She  is  my  next  door  neighbor; 
I  shall  see."  But  the  Indirect  way  is  the  best.  Do  you  not 
see  the  fine  distinction  in  the  method?  She  goes  to  the 
window  and  calls;  the  audience  sees  that  Prudence  is  Ca- 
mille's  neighbor,  and  Olimpe  learns  that  she  is  her  neigh- 
bor for  the  first  time.  Camille  could  have  directly  de- 
scribed Prudence,  a  milliner,  "a  good  soul,  with  a  heart  as 


indire:ction  is  the  dramatic  method  237 

light  as  her  purse,"  but  with  one  customer,  herself,  all  in  a 
single  speech.  But  Indirection  is  secured  by  having  Gaston 
not  know  Prudence  and  ask  who  she  is,  by  Olimpe  saying 
that  she  has  but  one  customer.  Indirection  of  this  sort 
is  not  a  mere  arbitrary  rule,  and,  in  this  case,  it  is  saved 
from  artificiality  by  the  circumstances  and  the  naturalness 
of  the  dialogue.  The  Indirection  makes  the  Dialogue  crisp 
and  responsive,  full  of  ideas  and  facts  and  relations.  All 
the  facts  about  the  family  of  Armand  are  brought  out  In- 
directly. Prudence  could  have  imparted  the  information, 
but  that  would  have  been  too  direct  and  would  not  have 
involved  the  other  characters.  Dumas  had  all  the  facts  in 
his  material  and  notes,  those  and  other  facts  he  had  to  in- 
troduce Indirectly,  and  his  art  being  a  living  one  within 
him,  he  contrived  a  scene  by  means  of  which  he  could  util- 
ize the  facts.  This  indirectness  has  also  the  value  of  af- 
fording lightness  of  touch.  Imagine,  for  example,  Armand's 
reference  to  his  sister  being  withheld  until  the  interview 
between  the  two.  It  would  be  sudden  and  direct,  without 
light  and  shade.  It  is  obvious  that  more  points  are  made 
by  this  method,^  and  every  point  that  is  made  in  a  play  is 
that  much  money.  How  horribly  sordid  that  sounds,  but 
Art  nods  her  head  in  approval.  The  use  of  the  Indirect  is 
an  exercise  of  the  living  art.  The  supper  scene  is  not  an 
accident  in  the  composition  of  the  play.  Dumas  had  in  his 
notes  substantially  all  that  appears  in  the  Dialogue  of  the 
scene.  He  had  to  introduce  all  this  Indirectly.  It  is  all 
purely  incidental.  It  is  not  important  enough  to  be  used 
in  the  structure.  It  could  by  no  possibility  be  utilized  in 
any  other  way.  Imagine  Camille's  describing  Prudence  as 
a  greedy  creature.  Of  course,  Sequence  has  everything  to 
do  with  the  withholding  of  this  trait  in  Prudence.  It  is  a 
good  bit  of  Indirectness  when  Varville  says  to  Camille  that 
she  will  be  cold  with  a  a  light  shawl  and  she  replies,  "Cold ! 
I  am  on  fire  \"  also  "Camille :  Give  me  my  mantle,  Nanine, 
I  must  go."  Nanine:  "You  have  it,  mademoiselle."  Pru- 
dence advises  Camille  not  to  see  Armand,  with  whom  Pru- 


238  ANAI^YSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.E 

dence  has  just  been  talking.  Camille  (weeping)  "That  is 
your  advice?"  Prudence:  "It  is."  Camille:  "What  else 
did  he  say?"  The  Action  itself  is  Indirect,  by  means  of 
which  Armand,  at  the  close  of  the  second  act,  has  Camille 
renounce  Varville.  The  letter  from  Varville  arrives,  Arm- 
and makes  it  the  "touchstone  of  her  worth."  If  her  renun- 
ciation and  choice  had  been  the  Direct  result  of  his  talk 
with  her  the  method  would  have  been  more  Direct,  but 
the  end  is  obtained  better  by  this  form  of  Indirectness.  The 
gayety  of  Nichette  and  Gaston  is  arrived  at  Indirectly ;  they 
talk  of  his  first  case  and  laugh  over  his  losing  it,  &c.  To 
have  talked  about  their  happiness  merely  would  have  been 
a  repetition  and  would  have  been  very  tiresome.  Duval's 
entrance  is  accomplished  in  an  Indirect  way.  The  result 
of  the  interview  between  Duval  and  Camille  is  reached  by 
many  paths  of  Indirection.  "You  must  tell  him  that  you  do 
not  love  him."  "He  will  not  believe  me."  "You  must 
leave  Paris."    "He  will  follow  me."    "What  will  you  do?" 

"I  must  teach  him  to  despise  me."  Prudence's  account  of 
Camille's  return  to  her  luxurious  life,  her  debts  paid,  and 
under  the  protection  of  Varville  is  Indirect,  for  she  t^Us 
it  all  with  another  purpose  than  the  talk  effects.  In  the  last 
act  there  are  many  examples  of  the  Indirect.  The  Direct 
method  used  by  the  inexpert  would  have  announced  at  the 
beginning  of  the  act,  in  so  many  words,  that  Camille 
has  been  deserted  by  most  of  her  friends. 

In  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  let  us  first  consider  the  oper- 
ation of  the  dramatist's  mind  which  causes  him  to  select 
those  things  which  he  wants  to  bring  in  Indirectly.  Many 
small  or  even  important  points  may  have  occurred  to  him 
as  he  was  writing  the  dialogue,  but,  in  the  main,  they  were 
ascertained  and  carefully  assigned  in  his  notes,  mental  or 
written,  to  the  particular  scene.  He  constantly  refers  back 
to  the  Material  and  the  Conditions  Precedent.  The  thought 
has  occurred  that  the  Mildmays  have  been  married  a  year. 
Emily  is  young  and,  disappointed,  in  away,  in  her  marriage, 
and  not  yet  beyond  the  period  of  girlish  romance.    It  is  a 


indire:ction  is  the;  dramatic  method  239 

little  touch,  worth  the  while  to  consider,  and  is  put  down  in 
the  notes.  Nothing  structural  depends  upon  the  date  of  the 
marriage.  The  Plot  is  not  concerned  with  it.  It  is  an  in- 
cidental idea  to  be  introduced  incidentally;  and  if  inciden- 
tally, Indirectly.  Trifles  can  be  thus  introduced,  and  being 
subordinate  ideas,  their  proportions  are  preserved.  The  ob- 
ject of  the  first  scene  in  the  play  is  to  show  the  Conditions, 
but  in  an  active  way.  To  show  that  Mildmay  is  not  consid- 
ered in  his  own  household  we  must  also  show  why,  and 
the  incidents  must  turn  on  facts ;  in  other  words,  the  Action 
must  be  about  something.  Where  does  the  author  find  the 
somethings  about  which  it  all  is?  Naturally,  in  his  mate- 
rial. It  could  be  about  things  off  stage  and  not  of  the  real 
Action,  and  the  effect  desired  for  the  first  scene  could  be 
produced,  but  the  scene  would  lack  compactness.  As  it  is, 
everything  has  a  direct  bearing  though  introduced  Indi- 
rectly. Mildmay  is  a  home  loving  man  and  admires  his 
wife's  accomplishments.  "Suppose,  Emily,  you  give  us  a 
little  music."  Her  reply  shows  at  once  that  she  does  not 
appreciate  his  admiration.  The  fact  that  they  are  married 
comes  out  very  simply,  but  with  beautiful  Indirectness. 
"You  used  to  like  playing  it  to  me  before  we  were  married," 
says  Mildmay.  Indirectly  we  see  the  change  in  her.  Forth- 
with by  Indirection  we  see  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  and  Potter 
hold  him  in  little  esteem,  for  by  reason  of  what  has  been 
said  they  proclaim  that  he  has  no  soul  for  music  or  any- 
thing. The  suggestion  of  the  dinner  at  Richmond  tomor- 
row indirectly  brings  out  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  is  to 
have  a  dinner  at  home,  and  incidentally  we  see  that  she  is 
in  control  of  the  domestic  arrangements.  It  has  all  been 
led  up  to  Indirectly  and  Conditions  have  been  brought  out 
Indirectly.  Because  he  cannot  get  them  to  agree  with  him 
on  anything,  Mildmay  is  about  to  go  to  earth  up  the 
celery.  That  he  was  given  to  raising  vegetables  did  not 
come  into  the  scene  by  accident.  Here  was  the  proper 
place  for  its  introduction ;  it  is  only  an  incidental  fact ;  and 
it  belongs  to  the  Conditions  Precedent  and  the  Material 


240  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE^ 

of  the  play.  It  existed  before  this  particular  scene  was 
thought  of.|^  The  author  wanted  to  show  also  that  Mrs. 
Sternhold  was  in  authority  in  the  house  and  he  does  that 
by  having  her  shut  off  Potter  when  he  starts  to  protest 
against  both  Potter  and  Mildmay  show  that  authority  which 
dinner.  Observe  that  in  doing  this  the  main  object  of  the 
scene  is  not  forgotten,  for  Mrs.  Sternhold's  accusations 
against  both  Potter  and  Mildmay  show  that  authority  that 
goes  far  to  explain  the  subjugation  of  Mildmay.  The  author 
had  Mildmay  fall  asleep  in  order  to  allow  Mrs.  Sternhold 
to  speak  of  him  as  stupid  and  "without  a  will  of  his  own." 
It  was  the  Indirect  way  of  .getting  at  it.  He  wanted  to  in- 
troduce this  opinion.  <  Indirectly  we  have  gathered  from 
the  scene  all  the  relations  of  the  people.  Mildmay  and 
Emily  are  husband  and  wife,  have  been  married  just  one 
year.  Potter  is  the  brother  of  Mrs.  Sternhold  who  is  the 
aunt  of  Emily;  Mildmay  employs  himself  working  in  the 
garden,  earths  up  celery,  used  to  be  fond  of  "Auld  Robin 
Gray"  before  he  and  Emily  were  married,  Emily  adores 
Beethoven,  Potter  and  the  aunt  think  he  has  no  soul  for 
music  or  anything,  the  aunt  and  the  wife  are  hand  in  glove, 
Mrs.  Sternhold  dominates  Potter,  she  has  a  sharp  temper, 
will  not  permit  argument  with  herself;  and  she  is  a  prac- 
tical person,  for  she  says  that  poetry  and  romance  are  not 
such  safe  investments  as  the  three  per  cents.  In  the  talk 
between  Mrs.  Sternhold  and  Potter  we  learn  Indirectly  that 
Emily  is  his  only  daughter  and  that  she  is  to  inherit  every- 
thing at  his  death.  We  even  hear  that  Potter  is  eighteen 
years  older  than  his  sister.  The  exact  difference  in  their 
ages  is  not  important  enough  to  be  brought  in  in  any  other 
way.  This,  indeed,  may  have  been  a  bit  of  material  created 
under  the  inspiration  of  the  moment  in  writing  the  dialogue. 
The  author  may  not  have  to  go  in  search  of  this  partic- 
ular bit  of  material ;  it  may  have  come  to  him,  but  it  is  possi- 
ble that  he  had  fixed  the  ages  in  the  Conditions  Precedent. 
We  get  the  facts  about  the  settlement  of  eight  thousand 
pounds  on  Emily  and  Mrs.  Sternhold's  insistence  on  Pot- 


INDIRECTION    IS    THE    DRAMATIC    METHOD  ^4! 

ter's  investment  with  Hawksley.  Could  it  be  more  Indi- 
rect, how  Potter's  suspicions  of  Hawksley's  relations  with 
Emily  are  led  up  to?  Indirection  is  a  scale  with  fine  bal- 
ances in  which  to  weigh  things.  If  Potter  had  begun  the 
conversation  with  the  expression  of  his  suspicions  too  much 
importance  would  have  been  given  to  him  in  the  matter. 
Personally,  he  is  not  thereafter  concerned  in  the  affair. 
But  by  the  Indirection  of  it  all  Mrs.  Sternhold's  suspicions 
are  aroused.  Here  we  have  the  use  of  Indirection  as  an 
active  principle  purposely  applied  in  order  to  promote  the 
Action.  It  is  no  longer  the  mere  introduction  of  facts 
in  the  right  way  and  in  the  right  place  by  Indirection,  but 
a  larger  thing,  the  Action.  In  serving  that  purpose,  how- 
ever, the  Indirection  of  the  scene  purveys  a  great  deal  of 
information  derived  from  the  Conditions  Precedent.  So 
far  we  have  seen  two  activities  of  Indirection  as  a  living 
Principle.  We  have  applied  it  to  "getting  in"  facts  from 
the  Material  and  the  Conditions  Precedent,  firstly,  as  Facts, 
secondly,  in  the  right  place.  For  that  matter  Sequence  is 
to  be  considered  within  the  scenes  and  with  reference  ta 
the  scene  itself  as  a  scene.  That  is  to  say,  we  introduce" 
the  facts  according  to  the  structure  of  the  play  and  theni: 
to  the  structure  of  the  scenes.  The  less  important  a  fact  or 
an  idea  is  the  more  Indirectly  it  will  be  introduced.  That 
both  Mildmay  and  Potter  fall  asleep  after  dinner  is  a  de- 
tail of  the  kind.  It  is  as  remote  from  the  Proposition  of  the 
play  as  can  be  imagined.  Mildmay's  freeing  himself  from 
the  existing  domination  is  the  thing,  but  his  position  in 
the  household  remains  incidental  until  he  exposes  and 
thwarts  the  shrewd  financial  scheme.  The  same  may  be  said 
of  the  facts  introduced  incidentally  as  to  the  criminal  his- 
tory of  Hawksley.  If  the  play  had  to  be  worked  out  in  de- 
tail on  that  point  of  attack  and  conflict  the  facts  or  prem- 
ises would  have  been  made  specific  in  the  beginning  and  the 
treatment  would  have  been  different. 

To  return  to  the  first  scene.    We  see  many  things  about 
which  not  a  word  is  said  between  the  characters  directly. 
16 


242  ANAI^YSIS   OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

Mildmay  is  patient,  forbearing,  domestic,  affectionate,  fond 
of  gardening,  simple  in  his  tastes  for  music,  respectful  in 
manner,  bored  by  the  state  of  affairs,  but  with  love  for 
his  wife;  Emily  is  sentimental,  accomplished,  and  she 
shows  that  by  a  few  bars  of  Beethoven  on  the  piano  under 
the  control  of  the  aunt,  nagging,  unreasonable  and  discon- 
tented with  her  prosaic  husband.  Mrs.  Sternhold  orders 
the  arrangement  of  the  house,  she  is  sharp  and  domineer- 
ing^. Potter  is  nobody,  and  has  spoiled  his  daughter  by  the 
very  lack  of  exercise  of  authority.  That  he  does  not  at- 
tempt to  control  her  is  seen  later  on  when  he  confides  to 
Mrs.  Sternhold  his  suspicions  as  to  the  relations  between 
his  daughter  and  Hawksley  instead  of  taking  the  matter  in 
hand  himself.  Did  these  points  that  impress  one  so  clearly 
on  reading  or  witnessing  the  play  get  into  it  accidentally, 
the  author  "making  it  up  as  he  went  along,"  or  had  he  de- 
termined the  substantial  things  from  the  beginning?  It 
all  came  from  the  Material  and  Conditions  Precedent.  It 
began  to  take  shape  in  Proposition  and  Plot  and  finally 
through  the  division  into  Acts  and  Scenes  reached  the 
Action  which  we  see. 

We  get  at  the  relations  between  Mrs.  Sternhold  and 
Hawksley  Indirectly.  That  he  has  incriminating  letters 
from  her  is  not  disclosed  until  toward  the  end  of  the  scene 
between  them,  and  yet  without  the  letters  and  what  is  in- 
volved in  them  the  scene  would  be  tame. 

Imagine  the  case, — that  within  five  minutes  after  the  rise 
of  the  curtain  it  should  be  communicated  to  the  audience, 
by  means  known  best  to  the  amateur  and  usually  by  solilo- 
quy or  other  clumsy  device,  (for  there  is  no  more  intricate 
"art"  than  that  of  the  amateur)  that  Mildmay  knows  of  the 
existence  of  bills  forged  by  Hawksley,  that  Mrs.  Sternhold 
knows  of  Hawksley's  duplicity  and  designs  on  Emily,  and 
that  Hawksley  has  thirteen  love  letters  from  her,  &c.,  &c., 
the  Action  would  be  stunted  from  its  birth;  the  charm  of 
Indirection  in  the  progressive  Action  would  be  lost.  We 
could  no  longer  see  the  grass  grow,  no  longer  watch  Nature 


INDIRECTION    IS    THE    DRAMATIC    METHOD  243 

developing  the  bud  into  the  mature  beauty  of  the  flower; 
for  the  drama  enables  us  to  witness  nature  in  the  develop- 
ment of  human  ideas. 

This  play  is  particularly  good  in  the  matter  of  Indirec- 
tion^^ 

Pin  "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  we  have  a  very 
Striking  example  of  Indirection  in  the  very  first  scene,  for 
we  could  hardly  expect  that  the  downfallen  wretch  who 
was  being  thrust  from  the  inn  has  the  moral  right  of  in- 
dignation against  the  tapster,  and  would,  before  the  scene 
is  over,  enlist  our  sympathies  on  his  side.  We  see  him  as 
he  is  and  then  hear  what  he  was.  He  is  abject  at  first  and 
then  rises  to  his  inborn  dignity  and  just  wrath.  It  would 
seem  to  be  a  roundabout  way  of  bringing  out  the  Story  of 
the  past,  but  that  Story  is  in  itself  an  active  conflagration 
concerning  the  present,  kindled  by  what  happens  before  our 
eyes.  It  is  Indirect,  because  the  past  is  summoned  up  by  the 
exigencies  of  the  living  moment.  It  is  almost  impossible  to 
destroy  every  trace  of  a  dramatic  principle,  but  if  we  im- 
agine Wellborn  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  inn  and  narrat- 
ing to  us  directly,  as  might  be  said,  his  woes  and  his  past, 
and  then  compare  it  with  the  animated  scene  which  has  in 
it  all  the  Action,  objective  and  subjective  and  physical, 
we  may  realize  how  paltry  would  be  the  direct  method  of 
conveying  to  us  these  facts.  Of  course,  there  would  be 
some  Indirection  if  Wellborn  were  sitting  there  refused 
admission,  because  his  reflections  would  be  caused  by  the 
circumstances,  and  in  that  way  would  be  Indirect.  But  the 
drama  is  not  satisfied  with  anything  but  the  best  of  its 
kind.  A  better  Indirection  was  found  by  Massinger,  and 
we  enjoy  the  same  largely  by  reason  of  its  Indirectness. 
Massinger  is  so  fine  in  the  practical  application  of  the  car- 
dinal principles  of  the  drama,  that  an  exercise  in  trying  to 
convert  his  something  into  nothing  would  be  a  rather  for- 
midable task.  It  partakes  of  the  nature  of  desecration  to  try 
to  distort  by  way  of  exercises  the  wonderfully  compact  reali- 
ties of  this  play.    Probably  one  of  the  best  uses  of  Indirection 


\ 


244  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE) 

made  by  Massinger  may  be  seen  in  his  subtle  method  of 
showing  the  developing  relations  between  Lord  Lovell  and 
Lady  Allworth.  One  is  almost  inclined  to  believe  that  Lord 
Lovell  is  making  his  visit  to  Lady  Allworth  by  her  per- 
mission, and  with  a  tacit  understanding  on  the  part  of 
these  noble  characters  of  the  possibilities  of  the  future.  She 
has  refused  to  admit  any  of  her  many  suitors  to  her  pres- 
ence. Indeed,  she  turns  away  strangers  whether  they  are 
suitors  or  not.  Sir  Giles  visits  her  in  vain.  Now,  such  an 
impression  does  each  word  or  sentence  make  upon  the 
mind  that  we  find  it  constantly  going  back  of  the  text,  and 
we  often  discern  a  reflex  Action  in  passages  which  con- 
stantly are  brought  to  the  mind  and  live  again  long  after 
their  utterance.  Thus,  when  Wellborn  and  Allworth  talk 
apart,  two  speeches  between  Tapwell  and  Froth  intervene, 
and  in  the  meanwhile  Allworth  has  imparted  to  Wellborn 
what  is  evidently  a  secret.  Wellborn's  first  sentence  is, 
"sent  to  your  mother?"  Now,  at  this  point,  and  indeed 
later  on,  it  is  Jeft  to  us  to  imagine  why  he  is  sent  to  his 
mother.  Details  are  not  necessary  in  the  Dialogue  at  this 
point  as  to  Lovell's  state  of  feeling  or  conditional  purpose 
as  to  Lady  Allworth,  but  we  must  assume  that  Allworth  is 
to  get  his  mother's  consent  to  accompany  Lord  Lovell  to 
the  lowlands.  At  any  rate.  Lord  Lovell  is  to  follow.  Lady 
Allworth's  inquiries  of  Allworth  about  his  "noble  master" 
indirectly  tell  us  of  her  regard  for  her  future  master.  It  is 
a  kind  of  Indirection  whereby  Justice  Greedy's  character 
is  so  divertingly  brought  out,  in  that  occasions  are  inci- 
dentally provided  for  his  talk  and  his  antics.  Everything 
in  the  play  is  brought  out  Objectively  as  the  result  of  the 
clash  of  conflicting  interest  and  characters,  and  this,  again, 
is  a  kind  of  Indirectness.  Attention  has  been  called  to  the 
Indirection  throughout  the  relations  between  Lord  Lovell 
and  Lady  Allworth.  So  much  for  conditions  and  passive 
facts.  The  Indirection  of  the  Plot  or  the  Action  directly 
concerning  them  is  also  distinctly  admirable.  The  coming 
together  of  these  two  people  is  brought  about  Indirectly 


INDIRECTION    IS   THE    DRAMATIC    METHOD  245 

by  events.  Lady  Allworth  is  led  to  talk  with  Lord  Lovell 
concerning  Sir  Giles's  open  offer  to  give  him  his  daughter 
Margaret  in  marriage.  The  audience  knows  that  he  is  act- 
ing for  Tom  Allworth  in  all  honesty.  Lady  Allworth  thinks 
it  proper  to  remind  him  that  men  of  noble  blood  and  fame 
and  honor  would  not  make  sordid  wealth  the  object  and 
sole  end  of  their  aims.  Naturally,  he  tells  her  that  he  does 
not  intend  to  wed  with  the  rich  Margaret.  She  then  asks 
him  why-pretend  his  suit;  in  reply  he  asks  her  why  she  has 
so  prodigally  bestowed  her  favors  on  Wellborn ;  but  she  an- 
swers that  she  is  innocent  and  that  her  ends  are  good.  They 
come  to  an  understanding  of  each  other,  and  the  way  is 
paved  for  future  talk  between  them.  A  beautiful  scene 
would  have  been  lost  and  Indirection  would  have  been  de- 
stroyed if,  in  the  making  of  the  play,  Massinger  had  had 
them  arrange  between  them  their  respective  plans  and  du- 
plicity in  the  aid  of  Wellborn  and  Allworth.  The  Indirect- 
ness of  the  Plot  has  led  to  Indirectness  in  the  Action  and  in 
the  scenes  themselves. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


OBJECTIVITY— THE  VISUAL. 

f      Objectivity  is  that  quality  in  the  Drama  whereby  Facts^ 
1    ideas  and  emotions  are  visualized  or  are  expressed  by  phy- 
I    sical  means. 

The  effect  of  the  drama  depends  largely  upon  the  eye, 
what  is  seen,  consequently  the  dramatist  must  constantly 
seek  to  translate  everything  possible  into  the  visible.  Busi- 
ness accomplishes  something  of  this,  but  the  necessity  of 
showing  things  bodily  applies  in  a  larger  sense.  In  "Ingo- 
mar"  the  author  wishes  to  show  that  the  Allemani  are  bar- 
barians. Note  how  he  does  this  in  the  second  act.  They 
are  throwing  dice,  and  finally  they  quarrel  and  are  about  to 
slay  each  other.  It  was  absolutely  essential  to  show  their 
nature  in  some  way  in  a  scene  devoted  mainly  to  this  pur- 
pose. The  incident  also  serves  to  show  the  authority  of  In- 
gomar  over  his  men  when  he  parts  them.  That  Myron  is 
used  as  a  slave  is  shown  by  his  having  a  bundle  of  wood  on 
his  shoulders  as  he  enters.  He  is  ordered  to  perform  servile 
duties.  That  is:  The  author  translates  into  the  Objective 
and  visible  these  things:  They  are  savages,  Ingomar  was 
their  master  in  fierceness  and  spirit,  Myron  was  a  slave.  He 
wanted  to  show  Ingomar's  opinion  of  women,  and  devised 
the  incident  of  Myron's  weeping  because  he  is  separated 
from  his  daughter  and  wife,  so  as  to  give  Ingomar  a  reason 
to  express  himself  on  the  subject  of  women.  These  oppor- 
tunities did  not  come  by  accident  or  by  the  wandering  im- 
agination of  the  author.  He  invented  them  for  a  particular 
use  in  a  particular  place.  How  poor  it  would  be  if  Parthe- 
nia  should  preach  love  to  Ingomar  offhand.  The  author 
gave  her  the  occasion  to  describe  it  as  she  weaves  the  gar- 
lands and  puts  the  flowers  about  the  cup,  the  picture  resolv- 
ing itself  into  one  of  lovers.  A  writer  of  genius,  but  not  of 
dramatic  genius  or  experience,  might  have  these  two  char- 


OBJECTIVITY — the:    VISUAI.  247 

acters  say  pretty  much  all  they  do  say  with  no  more  occa- 
sion than  is  involved  in  the  talk  itself.  Why  could  not 
Parthenia  argue  the  point  w^ith  him  that  she  is  no  slave? 
She  could.  But  the  dramatist  translates  and  expresses  that 
by  having  her  disobey  Ingomar.  "I  go  to  cleanse  the  cup.** 
See  also  the  use  made  of  the  spear  and  the  shield.  A 
drama  is  pictorial  above  all  things.  These  pictures,  how- 
ever, must  be  bound  together  by  the  Plot  and  the  Action. 
Try  to  recall  any  play  you  have  seen  and  you  will  recog- 
nize that  you  can  do  so  mainly  by  what  you  have  seen 
rather  than  by  what  you  have  heard.  What  you  have  seen 
is  far  more  distinct,  at  least.  The  essential  thing  must  be 
seen,  symbolized.  Imagine  Juliet  describing  her  falling  in 
love  with  Romeo  at  sight,  and  the  scene  between  the  lovers 
omitted.  Yet  substantially  that  same  thing  is  done  in 
many  plays  which  fail.  But,  observe  that  no  one  principle 
stands  by  itself.  What  is  shown  must  be  the  right  things 
in  the  right  place,  and  must  be  drama.  We  call  your  par- 
ticular attention  to  this  process  of  the  dramatist's  mind  in 
providing  Objective  scenes  which  include  all  the  other 
means  of  expression.  The  whole  tendency  of  the  drama  is 
toward  symbolizing  everything,  and  when  a  miser  is  de- 
picted, his  greed  and  spirit  are  shown  as  he  gloats  over  his 
coin.  This  is  not  suggested  as  inevitable.  It  does  not 
mean  that  that  is  the  only  symbolism  that  can  be  used. 
Neptune  is  symbolized  with  his  trident,  and  thus  is  conven- 
tionalized. Polydor  is  a  miser  and  his  leading  passion  is 
expressed  sufficiently  in  what  he  says  and  does. 

Certain  things  in  a  play  must  be  made  visual,  that  is  to 
say,  Objective.  Immaterial  things  need  not  be  shown,  but 
the  Material  things  must  be.  In  the  very  first  scene  of 
"The  Lady  of  Lyons"  we  see  the  pride.  Instigated  by  her 
mother,  Pauline  is  out  for  an  exalted  marriage ;  that  is  plain 
enough.  She  has  suitors ;  the  flowers  show  that ;  Beauseant 
appears  to  ask  for  her  hand;  and  the  reference  by  Damas 
to  the  ball  adds  to  the  proof.  It  is  not  necessary  to  go 
into  further  detail  by  way  of  proof.    That  she  wants  a  title 


248  ANAI.YSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

appears  in  the  talk  with  Damas.  We  are  left  in  no  doubt 
about  that,  for  she  rejects  Beauseant  because  he  has  lost  his 
in  the  revolution.  That  Melnotte  was  in  love  with  her  is 
made  Objective  by  means  of  a  scene  specially  devised  for 
the  purpose,  where  he  talks  with  her  mother.  He  has  given 
his  days  to  painting  her  picture;  his  thoughts  have  been 
occupied  with  her  image.  Beauseant's  mortification  at  his 
rejection  is  actually  seen,  also  his  rage  and  desire  for  re- 
venge when  he  talks  with  Glavis.  That  Beauseant  discov- 
ers the  very  man  for  his  scheme  is  actually  seen.  It  was  not 
material  to  show  Pauline's  scorn  of  the  flowers  and  verse 
sent  by  Melnotte  and  her  treatment  of  Gasper,  for  we  ac- 
cept the  facts  as  logical,  but  we  do  see  the  effect  on  Mel- 
notte when  Gasper  relates  his  experience.  Imagine  this 
scene  omitted  and  Melnotte's  telling  his  mother,  at  second 
hand,  of  the  treatment  accorded  to  his  messenger.  He  is 
seen  to  receive  the  note  from  Beauseant.  Imagine  Beause- 
ant and  Glavis  merely  telling  of  Melnotte's  disposition  of 
their  jewels,  and  the  Objective  scene  omitted.  In  certain 
circumstances  it  might  have  been  omitted,  but  it  plays  a 
part  in  the  Plot  and  the  Action.  It  was  needed  as  a  visible 
thing.  The  duel  between  Damas  and  Melnotte  had  to  be 
made  Objective,  for  it  not  only  confirms  the  accomplished 
character  of  the  "Prince,"  but  turns  Damas  into  a  friend, 
and  that  is  of  the  utmost  importance.  If  for  no  other  rea- 
son, the  scene  of  love  in  which  Melnotte  tells  of  his  palace 
was  necessary  to  show  Pauline's  complete  surrender.  Ob- 
|/"^jectivity  also  means  the  pictorial  element  in  a  play,  the 
f  conveyance  of  Facts  by  means  of  the  eye.  Thus,  Objec- 
tivity saves  words  and  is  one  of  the  greatest  economies  in 
a  play.  Melnotte's  humble  home  had  to  be  shown,  and  in 
like  way  everything  that  had  to  be  shown  was  predeter- 
mined. 

Objectivity,  or  the  reduction  to  the  visible,  concrete  ex- 
pression is  aimed  at  and  secured  in  every  good  drama.  It 
is  of  Objectivity  all  compact,  so  that  we  need  not  point  out 
every  example,  and  we  shall  dwell  more  particularly  on  cer- 


OBJECTIVITY — THE    VISUAL  249 

tain  necessities  of  it  from  the  Constructive  point  of  view. 
Nothing  in  a  play  stands  alone;    being  merely  Objective 
does  not  necessarily  count,  but  only  vi^hen  the  Objectivity  ' 
has  reference  to  the  objects  of  the  play  and  the  relations  of  *^ 
the  parts.     In  all  probability,  before  he  had  finally  shaped    * 
his    Plot    of    "Camille"    Dumas    saw^    the    necessity    of  ' 
certain     Objective     scenes;     among     them     the     supper 
scene     of  gayety     and  revelry     in     order     to     give     the    ' 
atmosphere  and  surroundings  of  Camille,  and  the  gay  dance « 
at  the  close  of  the  act.    The  last  act  may  also  have  been 
pretty  well  advanced,  because  obligatory  and  determined 
upon  before  the  completion  of  the  Plot  in  detail.    Thinking 
in  Objective  scenes  is  a  much  larger  matter  than  frivoling 
one's  time  away  in  details  of  Business  before  you  are  ready 
for  the  Business. r'Scenery  and  costumes  are  the  readiest 
resources  of  the  Objective.     Passing  oveF'tKe  Objectivity 
revealed  at  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  the  handsome  apartment, 
the  maid  in  simple  attire  and  a  gentleman  of  fashion,  we 
come  to  the  constructive  device  of  showing  Nichette  as  a 
working  girl.  /The  bundle  she  calls  for  is  Objective,  and    ^^ 
none  the  less  so  are  her  relations  with  Camille  and  with 
Gustave,  whom  she  is  so  impatient  to  rejoin.  ^A  fine  Objec-    ^ 
tive  point  is  gained  in  Camille's  entrance  in  the  opera  cloak, 
which  she  throws  aside.  ;  Her  indifference  to  Varville  is 
Objectively  shown  in  various  ways  and  by  several  inci- 
dents. \lt  may  be  thought  that  Objectivity  is  thus  made    - 
almost  identical  with  acting;  very  true,  but  acting  is  only  a 
part  of  it,  and  the  occasion  is  provided  by  the  authorj  Act- 
ing is  the  final  realization  of  the  art  of  the  playwright.| 
When,  in  the  previous  scene,  Varville  says  that  his  suit 
does  not  thrive,  the  Objective  consists  in  his  despondency 
and  perplexity;  the  fact  of  Camille's  indifference  remained 
to  be  shown.    It  is  not  a  repetition.  She  bids  him  go ;  he  sits 
by  the  fire ;  she  goes  to  the  piano  and  plays ;  and  when,  later 
on,  he  drums  on  the  piano  she  expresses  her  impatience  at 
the  "noise."    We  do  not  confine  the  Objective  solely  to  the 
visible,  for  the  words  may  also  give  open  expression  to 


250  ANAIvYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPIy^ 

sentiment,  aided  by  voice  and  gesture  and  facial  expression. 
In  the  supper  scene  the  characters  are  all  made  Objective. 
There  is  no  description;  it  is  the  thing  itself.  An  admir- 
able scene,  the  author  playing  on  the  instrument  with  both 
hands  and  all  his  fingers.  Note  how  many  changes  are 
rung  on  the  greed  of  Prudence.  A  number  of  small  but  im- 
portant points  are  missed  in  this  version.  Attention  is 
called  in  the  original  to  the  seriousness  of  Armand,  and  it 
is  noted  that  Camille  addresses  him  by  his  first  name.  Her 
illness  is  made  Objective;  then  Armand's  solicitude  and 
passion.  Camille  gives  Armand  the  camelia,  which  is  objec- 
tive and  symbolic.  The  final  scene  is  an  object  lesson  in 
folly,  they  come  dancing  in,  "dressed  fantastically  in  each 
other's  hats  and  bonnets."  A  fine  use  is  made  of  Objectiv- 
ity in  the  matter  of  the  light  shawl  and  the  heavier  wrap. 
Then  we  have  the  letter  from  Varville,  a  tangible  thing,  and 
then  her  tearing  it  up  to  signify  her  break  with  Varville. 
How  much  stronger  this  is  than  if  it  were  mere  talk,-  how- 
ever definite  and  conclusive,  ending  with  her  agreement  to 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  Varville.  The  idea  would  have 
been  conveyed,  but  here  we  have  a  specific  example  of  .the 
tendency  of  the  drama  toward  the  Objective.  It  is  essen- 
tially and  fully  dramatic ;  the  other  method  would  not  have 
been.  This  Objectivity  is  not  a  matter  of  chance,  but  was 
carefully  devised  by  Dumas.  How  shall  I  express  this  or 
that  in  an  Objective  way,  was  his  constant  thought.  He 
determined  upon  the  What  first  and  then  the  How.    In  the 

(  third  act:  "Are  not  these  sweet  flowers  which  Armand 
gave  me  this  morning?"    Objectivity.    How  much  stronger 

'  than  if  it  were  "Armand  sent  me  flowers  this  morning," 
and  no  flowers  to  bury  her  face  in.  It  is  also  Objective 
that  the  flowers  are  simple  and  culled  by  Armand's  hands, 
in  contrast  with  those  seen  in  the  first  act  when  she  "used 
to  spend  as  much  on  bouquets  as  would  have  kept  a  poor 
family  a  whole  year."  The  gaiety  that  comes  from  love 
is  made  Objective  in  the  scenes  between  Camille  and  Gus- 
tave  and  Nichette.    The  great  scene  between  Camille  and 


OBJECTIVITY — THE    VISUAI.  25 1 

Duval  is  the  thing  itself.    That  is  v^hat  Objectivity  really  is 
—the  real  thing  itself.    Camille  writes  the  letter ;  her  anx- 
iety at  his  absence  is  seen,  and  finally  her  broken  heart. 
Passing  over  introductory  incidents  in  the  Fourth  Act  we» 
come  to  the  gaming  table.    This  game  was  devised  in  order 
to  supply  Armand  Objectively  with  the  money  which  he, 
is  to  shower  over  her,  in  his  scorn,  by  way  of  repayment,  at  • 
the  end  of  the  act.    He  might  have  secured  the  money  while- 
he  was  away  at  Tours,  and  just  as  conveniently  showered' 
it  on  her.    Why  not?    Because  Dumas  knew  his  trade;  he' 
accounted  for  the  possession  of  the  money  Objectively,  and. 
using  this  means  wasted  no  Words  and  needed  no  explana- 
tion.   On  top  of  it  comes  the  climax  of  the  inevitable  duel. 
What  an  economy  of  talk?    The  Objectivity  of  the  last  act 
is  obvious  and  natural.     Much  of  it  belongs  to  Business, 
such  as  the  Business  of  looking  into  the  glass  to  be  horrified  \*^ 
by  the  face  of  death  that  meets  her  gaze.    The  play  is  un- 
commonly full,  however,  of  the  Objectivity  of  Business. 

The  dramatist  is  constantly  required  to  exercise  the 
power  of  discrimination.  It  is  easy  to  fall  into  error  if  one 
does  not  realize  the  exacting  and  precise  nature  of  dramatic 
principle.  Nothing  short  of  a  certain  quality  will  satisfy 
drama.  For  instance,  one  may  say  of  a  scene  he  may  have 
written:  It  is  objective.  No?  why  not?  are  not  the  char- 
acters there  on  the  stage  Objectively  before  the  eye?  Are 
they  not  bringing  out  certain  facts  Objectively  by  discuss- 
ing them?  Very  true,  the  people  are  Objective,  but  their 
ideas  are  not;  what  you  want  to  show  is  not  shown  Objec- 
tively. You  miss  the  real  thi|ig^J 
J  in  the  first  scene  of  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  the  drama- 
tist wants  to  show  that  Mildmay  is  without  authority  in 
his  own  house,  that  he  is  regarded  as  a  man  without 
pirit  or  a  will  of  his  own.  Imagine  Mildmay  out  of  the 
cene  while  Potter,  Mrs.  Sternhold  and  Mrs.  Mildmay 
alked  about  him.  Pretty  much  all  that  happens  in  the 
scene  might  be  described  as  having  happened.  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold  may  have  arranged  for  the  dinner;  Mrs.  Mildmay  may 


252  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

have  refused  to  take  the  quiet  dinner  with  her  husband 
at  Richmond  on  this  account;  Potter  might  easily  concur 
with  them  that  Mildmay  had  no  spirit  for  music  or  any- 
thing. All  this  might  have  shown  their  opinion  of  Mild- 
may,  and  we  might  infer  that  Mildmay  was  henpecked 
and  without  authority,  but  it  would  be  at  second 
hand.  It  would  not  be  Objectivity  as  applied  to 
showing  that  Mildmay  was  without  consideration  in  his 
own  household.  It  would  have  gone  a  part  of  the  way, 
but  the  drama  wants  the  thing  itself.  Objectivity  is  asso- 
ciated in  practice  with  concrete  things.  It  must  be  about 
sjomething.  Here  we  have  the  music,  the  proposed  dinner, 
the  interference  by  Mrs.  Sternhold's  dinner,  a  reason  for  the 
charge  that  Mildmay  is  without  a  soul  for  anything,  the 
vegetables,  falling  asleep,  playing  for  Mrs.  Sternhold  and 
not  for  Mildmay,  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  women  with  all 
that  he  does.  Nothing  is  merely  talked  about;  everything 
is  shown.  Not  only  the  one  thing  is  put  before  us,  happen- 
ing before  our  eyes,  but  all  the  correlative  things.  The  fam- 
ily are  against  him.  Why?  Partly  because  he  has  not 
chosen  to  assert  himself  against  the  domination  of  the 
women.  He  never  quarrels.  They  are  unreasonable;  we 
see  it.  The  dramatist  had  to  show  it  all,  not  by  talk  about 
abstract  things,  but  giving  occasion  to  the  talk  on  specific 
things.  He  takes  from  his  material.  His  notes  help  him. 
He  has  fixed  the  relations  of  the  characters.  He  has  ascer- 
tained all  their  characteristics.  He  has  determined  on  his 
Plot.  He  requires  this  scene.  His  business  is  then  to  make 
it  Objective.  He  wishes  to  show  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  con- 
trols the  investments,  consequently,  we  have  the  scene  in 
which  Potter  defers  to  her  judgment.  Potter  merely  sus- 
pects the  influence  of  Hawksley  over  Mrs.  Mildmay.  This 
is  Objective  enough,  for  his  reason  for  suspecting  those  re- 
lations, or  rather  for  expressing  them,  is  his  growing  lack  of 
confidence  in  the  integrity  of  Hawksley.  But  if  he  had 
later  described  the  scene  that  ensues  between  the  rascal  and 
Emily  that  scene  would  certainly  not  have  been  Objective. 


OBJJeCTIVITY — the;    visual  253 

It  would  not  have  been  the  thing  itself,  but  a  description  of 
it.  It  is  not  that  everything  has  to  be  made  Objective,  but 
jail  essential  things  have  to  be.  Take  no  substitutes.  By- 
mean  s  of  that  interview  we  see  that  Hawksley  is  a  rascal. 
It  is  not  hearsay.  There  are  things  that  cannot  be  de- 
scribed. The  "way  of  a  man  with  a  maid"  or  a  silly,  senti- 
mental woman  is  one  of  them.  The  undramatic  "person" 
only  will  describe  them,  and  thereby  confess  his  inability 
to  present  the  thing  as  it  was.  To  destroy  the  Objective 
right  and  left^  convert  it  into  talk.  Get  far  away  from  the 
real  thing  and  shoot  at  it  with  the  primitive  bows  and  ar- 
rows of  the  amateur,  and  never  hit  it.  We  must  show 
whatever  it  is  necessary  to  show.  The  letters  have  been 
written  and  Hav^ksley  has  them  in  his  possession.  Do  we 
have  to  show  the  actual  letters  in  order  to  convince  the 
audience?  No.  Hawksley  might  be  carrying  them  about 
with  him  and  produce  them,  but  Mrs.  Sternhold's  conster- 
nation when  the  threat  is  made  that  they  will  be  used 
against  her  is  sufficient.  Her  quarrel  with  him  proves  that 
there  has  been  an  affair ;  we  see  a  part  of  it.  These  letters 
have  to  be  in  evidence  later  on.  Still,  we  must  get  as  close 
to  Objectivity  as  we  can.  If  Mrs.  Sternhold  had  spoken  of 
the  letters  before  the  interview  it  would  not  have  been  close 
enough.     Her  jealousy  and  anger  are  shown. 

It  usually  takes  a  whole  scene  to  show  Objectively  a  par- 
ticular thing,  and  it  is  for  that  reason  that  the  dramatic 
mind  thinks  in  scenes.  Hawksley  is  a  polished  villain  and 
he  is  playing  on  the  romantic  nature  of  Emily.  We  see  him 
at  his  game  when  we  hear  him  talk  of  Seville. 

When  the  author  determined  on  the  scene  in  Hawks- 
ley's  rooms  he  realized  that  he  had  something  concrete. 

Here  was  Objectivity.  Here  was  his  chance  to  show 
Mildmay  in  his  resolute  character.  He  filled  it  with  many 
little  touches  of  fine  Action.  Mildmay  troubles  Hawksley 
for  a  light;  Hawksley  is  agitated;  we  see  that  Mildmay's 
nerves  are  firm ;  his  hand  does  not  tremble. 

In  short,  Taylor  demonstrates  Character,  emotions,  Plot, 


254  ANAI.YSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

everything".  He  had,  for  example,  to  show  the  subjugation 
of  Mrs.  Sternhold.  The  scene  in  which  Mildmay  returns  to 
her  the  letters  is  absolutely  conclusive.  The  secret  is  held 
by  these  two  only.  Mrs.  Sternhold  controlled  the  house- 
hold. Her  subjugation  was  absolutely  necessary  and  had 
to  be  shown.  Once  the  Action  is  started,  the  Plot  is  worked 
out  by  what  happens,  by  what  people  DO.  If  they  do 
things,  the  things  are  seen.  If  material  to  the  Action  they 
must  be  done  on  the  stage,  and  not  off  stage.  Certain 
things  may  happen  off  stage,  but  there  must  be  a  reason 
for  it.  The  Greek  drama  has  much  happen  off  stage  which 
we  now  would  show.  Death  and  suicide  the  Greeks  did  not 
tolerate  on  the  stage.  But  what  happened  off  stage  was 
usually  inevitable.  It  may  be  that  we  are  left  too  much  in 
the  dark  as  to  the  purpose  of  Mildmay's  intended  trip  to 
Manchester  in  the  beginning.  Possibly  something  Objec- 
tive showing  that  he  was  on  the  track  of  the  scoundrel  by 
means  of  his  detectives  might  have  helped  the  Action,  but 
the  author  probably  considered  everything  and  weighed  ef- 
fects properly.  The  play  is  at  least  remarkable  in  its  abso- 
lute fidelity  to  life  in  a  number  of  its  objective  scenes.  ( 

Every  effective  and  technically  good  play  is  an  object 
lesson.  The  theatre  is  the  kindergarten  of  humanity.  While 
every  play  should  be  of  Objectivity  compact,^  difference 
between  them  may,  at  times,  be  noted  or  felt,  jit  would  be 
difficult  to  find  a  play  more  markedly  Objective  than  "A 
New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts."  The  efifect,  in  large  mea- 
sure proceeds  from  the  dramatic  habit  of  Massinger's  mind. 
He  projected  himself  entirely  away  from  the  limitations  of 
self.  The  result  is  that  the  characters  stand  out  with  abso- 
lute distinctness.  He  built  it  with  material  that  existed,  as  it 
were,  without  his  agency.  There  is  a  foolish  notion  among 
writers  of  a  certain  kind  that  they  must  "create"  things 
that  have  never  before  existed  on  earth.  Massinger  saw 
things  as  they  were  and  was  content  to  use  them  in  their 
proper  shape.  His  mind  was  none  the  less  creative  in  the 
combinations  it  formed,  and  the  degree  of  sentiment  and 


OBJECTIVITY — THE    VISUAL  255 

character  it  worked  with.  His  art  is  visible  in  the  very- 
opening  of  the  play.  We  realize  it  just  as  we  do  the  merit 
or  mastery  of  a  musician  with  the  first  touch  of  his  fingers 
upon  the  keys.  He  intended  to  show  us  at  once  the  des- 
perate extremity  of  a  spendthrift  outcast.  We  see  it  not 
alone  in  the  aspect  and  sorry  habiliment  of  Wellborn,  but 
every  circumstance  of  the  past  and  the  present  conform 
Objectively  to  that  which  was  made  known  Objectively  on 
the  instantj  {In  many  other  plays  of  his,  Massinger  was 
often  irflfault  technically  in  comparison  with  methods  of 
tfap-  present  state  of  the  art,  but  he  was  always  Objective, 
'fi  have  called  attention  to  that  operation  of  the  dramatic 
mind  which,  in  gathering  the  material  for  a  play,  fixes  upon 
scenes.  It  makes  an  entire  idea  or  part  of  the  play,  with 
subordinate  and  incidental  ideas  grouped  under  it,  into  a 
scene;  and  then  it  assembles  the  parts.  We  are  ready  now 
to  look  into  the  methods  of  Construction,  and  we  find  at 
once  that  Objectivity  is  largely  governed  after  the  manner 
indicated.  It  refers  back  to  the  material.  Take  the  scene 
between  Sir  Giles  and  MarralU  with  which  the  second  act 
opens.  The  main  object  of  the  scene  is  to  show  Sir  Giles's 
unrelenting  pursuit  of  his  nephew,  but  incidental  to  that  it 
is  Objectively  shown  to  us  the  use  that  Sir  Giles  makes 
of  his  tools,  Marrall  and  Greedy.  Except  for  this  scene 
with  this  particular  object,  no  reference  could  be  made  in 
the  play  to  Master  Frugal  and  Overreach's  methods  in  get- 
ting possession  of  the  coveted  property  and  it  was  not  nec- 
essary to  introduce  Frugal.  It  was  necessary  to  show 
Sir  Giles  in  contact  with  Wellborn.  That  is  accomplished  in 
the  brief  scene,  and  it  is  followed  by  a  scene  in  which  Mar- 
rail's  attitude  to  the  spendthrift  is  shown.  These  things 
had  to  be  at  first  hand.  It  was  necessary  to  make  Objec- 
tive the  state  in  which  Lady  Allworth  lived,  the  pampered 
insolence  of  her  retainers,  and  her  own  beautiful  well  poised 
character.  These  scenes  had  to  be,  and  they  are  worked  out 
in  fine  detail.  It  finally  resolves  itself  down  to  a  question 
of  determining  upon  what  things  must  be  actually  shown 


256  ANALYSIS   01^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE: 

and  seen.  It  is  not  avoidable  by  way  of  Preparation  to  sug- 
gest Character  and  Facts  in  advance  if  the  Action  so  de- 
mands, but  if  essential  to  the  play  these  Facts  and  charac- 
teristics are  confirmed  in  visible  scenes  later  oijj  It  was 
necessary  to  show  Tom  Allworth's  repudiation  of  his  friend 
Wellborn.  Note  that  it  is  accomplished  in  a  single  sentence 
on  the  part  of  Allwojjth.  It  is  a  short  scene,  but  the 
scene  had  to  bef^  \just  as  we  can  at  times,  anticipate 
things  and  confirm  them  afterwards,  so  the  event  that 
has  taken  place  becomes  operative  in  the  Action  by  its 
previous  objectivity.  In  this  way,  when  Marrall  tells  Sir 
Giles  of  his  having  feasted  with  Wellborn  and  Lady  All- 
worth,  the  previous  Objectivity  of  the  scene  which  he  de- 
scribes merges  into  the  Objectivity  involved  in  Marrall's 
talk  with  Sir  Giles.  Sir  Giles's  treatment  of  Marrall  and 
his  blows  had  to  be  shown.  Now,  whenever  anything  has 
to  be  shown  there  must  be  occasion  for  it.  We  have  the 
reason  why  Sir  Giles  strikes  Marrall;  we  have  the  Objec- 
tive reason  as  the  play  proceeds  why  Marrall  turns  traitor 
to  his  master.  The  Necessary  and  the  Unnecessary  and  Facts 
are  involved  in  this  question  of  Objectivity.  It  was  to 
be  shown  that  Lord  Lovell  was  to  hold  faith  with  Tom 
Allworth  in  pretending  to  pay  suit  to  the  beautiful  heiress. 
Nothing  could  be  better  in  the  way  of  Objectivity  than  the 
management  of  the  character  of  Justice  Greedy.  No  amount 
of  description  would  have  sufficed  to  make  him  stand  out 
as  a  living  creature,  but  the  occasion  is  provided  for  his 
manifestation  of  character.  Not  only  are  the  characters 
living  figures  by  reason  of  what  they  do,  but  every  detail 
of  the  Action  required  by  the  Plot  is  bodied  forth.  A  writer 
intent  more  on  Plot  than  on  realities  might  have  omitted 
the  two  scenes  between  Lord  Lovell  and  Lady  Allworth 
which  prepare  the  way  for  their  union  and  finally  make  it 
stire.  The  play  is  eminently  substantial  because  it  is 
worked  out  in  all  of  its  essential  parts.  That  a  fraudulent 
deed  of  conveyance  had  been  put  upon  Wellborn  has  been 
made  known  from  the  beginning  of  the  Action,  but  the 


OBj:eCTlVlTY — THE    VISUAL  257 

existence  of  the  deed  is  clinched  Objectively  by  bringing  in 
the  box,  whereupon  it  is  discovered  that  the  writing  has 
been  razed.  What  a  powerful  Objective  scene  it  is  when 
Sir  Giles  defeated  in  all  his  ambitions  and  schemes  falls 
into  madness.  The  scene  would  not  have  effectiveness  if 
his  character  and  his  evil  doings  had  not  been  brought 
plainly  to  our  view  in  leading  up  to  this  great  scene.  The 
very  violence  of  his  passion  at  the  supreme  moment  is  but 
the  culmination  of  the  unbridled  passion  which  we  have 
seen  at  every  step  in  the  play  in  which  he  appears.  Usually, 
scenes  of  sudden  madness  have  the  effect  of  theatrical  arti- 
fice, but  not  so  in  this  case.  There  is  nothing  charged 
against  Sir  Giles  that  is  not  made  manifest  sooner  or 
later.  The  cumulative  proof  of  Facts  in  this  play  is  ad- 
mirable. We  first  see  that  Wellborn  has  been  brought 
to  his  low  state  through  the  machinations  of  his  uncle. 
The  fact  is  repeated  again  and  again,  but  each  time  it  is 
called  forth  under  different  circumstances.  The  fact  that 
he  has  defrauded  his  nephew  is  made  absolutely  convinc- 
ing in  our  minds  by  the  methods  which  he  pursues  against 
every  one  who  stands  in  his  way  to  wealth  and  power. 
Massinger  was  not  satisfied  with  the  mere  exercise  of  Sir 
Giles's  craft  against  Wellborn.  Note  how  conclusively 
Massinger  demonstrates  and  makes  Objective  the  purity 
and  sweetness  of  Margaret.  Observe  that  it  is  always 
about  something  that  these  proofs  come  before  us.  How 
remote  from  the  mere  telling,  however  elaborate  such  tell- 
ing might  be,  of  the  purity  and  sweetness  of  the  girl.  These 
qualities  are  made  Objective  in  the  scene  with  her  father 
in  which  she  resents  his  advice  as  to  her  proper  conduct 
with  Lord  Lovell.  When  Allworth  describes  her  purity 
and  sweetness  to  Wellborn  in  one  scene,  and  to  Lord 
Lovell  in  another  the  Objectivity  consists  in  showing  his 
love  for  the  girl,  and  his  esteem  for  her  sweetness  and  her 
purity.  But  it  is  in  the  latter  scenes  that  these  qualities 
are  established.  The  Proposition  of  the  play  itself  re- 
17 


258  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

quires  that  Sir  Giles  be  tricked,  that  he  is  tricked  is  shown 
in  a  succession  of  scenes.  It  would  seem  hardly  possible 
for  any  dramatist  not  to  make  Objective  that  which  the 
very  Proposition  requires,  but  it  is  not  uncommon  in  im- 
perfectly written  plays.  The  Plot  of  all  parts  of  the  play 
should  be  set  forth  Objectively.  Certainly  Massinger  made 
sure  of  these  points.  Sir  Giles  in  speaking  of  his  ambitions 
for  his  daughter,  describes  how  he  wishes  to  have  her 
served  by  decayed  gentlewomen.  Did  Massinger's  objec- 
tive mind  let  that  pass,  strong  as  it  is,  as  sufficient?  No, 
he  has  Margaret  seen  with  two  female  attendants.  It  is 
true  that  he  does  not  bring  forward  the  decayed  gentle- 
women in  a  speaking  part,  but  you  may  be  sure  that  one 
of  her  attendants  is  that  decayed  gentlewoman.  It  is  a 
touch  of  Objectivity.  The  giving  of  the  signet  ring  by  Sir 
Giles,  which  plays  such  a  part  in  his  own  ruin,  is  plainly 
according  to  the  dramatic  habit  of  Massinger  to  be  Objec- 
tive. Word  of  mouth  was  not  enough.  How  can  I  make 
it  Objective,  asked  Massinger?  And  he  sought  a  means  in 
objects  and  customs  lying  at  hand.  His  whole  tendency  is 
toward  the  Objective,  even  in  details.  Of  course,  mere 
Objectivity  is  not  enough,  but  when  fortified  by  Proposi- 
tion, Sequence,  Cause  and  Effect  and  other  co-operative 
dramatic  principles,  the  ultimate  aim  of  Objectivity  is 
reached  in  every  good  play,  if  not  always  in  the  masterly  . 
way  in  which  it  is  compassed  in  "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  j 
Debts." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


THE  UNEXPECTED. 

The  Unexpected  is  that  inherent  quality  in  dramatic  Ac- 
tion which  must  manifestly  exist  at  all  moments,  as  to 
means  and  results,  until  everything  at  issue  is  solved. 

We  now  come  to  a  most  important  principle,  the  Unex- 
pected, the  very  opposite  of  ''Story,"  for  the  Unexpected  thing 
must  arise  out  of  the  active  relations  and  conditions  of  the 
moment  and  must,  consequently,  be  absolutely  new,  be- 
cause the  unexpected  would  be  otherwise  impossible.  It 
is  an  absolute  test  of  whether  your  play  is  dramatic  and  has 
Action  or  not.  In  other  words,  unless,  the  happenings  in  a 
play  are  Unexpected  or  lead  to  the  Unexpected,  you  have 
no  play.  This  dramatic  Unexpectedness  cannot  exist  in 
Mere  Life,  for  it  would  cease  to  be  mere  life  if  the  happen- 
ings had  significance  with  reference  to  a  progressive  Action. 
This  does  not  imply  that  the  principle  is  an  artificial  one.  In 
what  does  the  interest  in  Life  itself  consist?  In  that  we  do 
not  know  what  the  next  day  will  bring  forth,  (in  drama  it 
must  be  in  the  next  moment).  After  the  next  day  has  pass- 
ed, what  has  happened  becomes  Story.  We  may  hope  for 
something  to  happen  in  the  future,  but  uncertainty  gives 
the  hope  its  zest.  Apply  this  to  "Ingomar."  Parthenia 
refuses  to  accede  to  her  mother's  demand  that  she  marry 
Polydor,  unexpectedly  to  us  she  reconsiders  and  will 
marry  him  under  conditions;  unexpectedly,  Polydor  is  too 
sordid ;  unexpectedly  Myron  is  made  captive ;  unexpectedly, 
the  citizens  cannot  or  will  not  help  her  to  secure  the  ran- 
som ;  unexpectedly,  the  Timarch  cannot  aid,  for  there  is  an 
ancient  law  against  it ;  unexpectedly,  Polydor  will  not  listen 
to  her,  now  that  she  relents ;  unexpectedly,  by  reason  of  the 
development  of  circumstances,  she  determines  to  go  and 
oflfer  herself  as  hostage  for  her  father.  In  the  second  act 
it  is  so  worked  up  that  we  feel  that  Parthenia's  going  can 


26o  ANALYSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

result  in  her  own  ruin  only;  to  impart  this  feeling  in  the 
audience  the  author  shows  the  savagery  of  the  barbarians 
first.  We  are  shown  in  the  scene  between  Ingomar  and 
Myron  that  Ingomar  despises  a  woman,  and  we  feel  that 
Parthenia's  mission  is  hopeless,  particularly  if  she  comes 
there  to  plead.  Unexpectedly,  she  is  accepted  as  hostage; 
unexpectedly  she  defines  her  position  as  not  that  of  a  slave, 
and  wins  the  love  of  Ingomar ;  and  so  substantially  all  that 
happens  is  Unexpected ;  not  by  way  of  caprice,  but  through 
the  development  of  the  Action.  It  is  by  means  of  the  Un-  . 
expected  that  you  get  Action  and  progress  at  every  step.  | 
The  Proposition  of  a  play,  in  its  problem,  in  its  last  clause, 
involves  the  Unexpected;  we  provide  for  it  in  the  Plot, 
set  it  down  in  the  scenes,  and  in  the  handling  of  the  Action 
and  the  Dialogue  of  those  scenes  we  take  care  that  we  reach 
these  Unexpected  structural  things  in  an  Unexpected  way. 
To  have  an  audience  know  or  anticipate  what  was  going  to 
happen  and  how  it  was  going  to  happen  would  deprive  a 
play  of  all  interest.  This  Unexpectedness  may  be  destroyed 
in  a  great  many  ways  by  an  improper  technical  use  of  the 
other  principles.  If  you  will  examine  the  play  more  mi- 
nutely than  has  just  been  done  you  will  encounter  Unex- 
pectedness at  every  step  and  in  every  line. 

Why  things  must  arise  Unexpectedly,  the  philosophy 
of  it  all,  will  be  fully  discussed  later;  it  is  enough,  for  the 
present,  to  be  convinced  that  Unexpectedness  is  a  neces- 
sity of  the  Action  and  a  universal  element  in  a  play. 
Doubt  as  to  results  is  always  existent,  it  being  almost  the 
definition  of  Action ;  so  that  every  happening  is,  in  a  man- 
ner. Unexpected.  Beauseant  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  is 
rejected  Unexpectedly;  Damas  ridicules  the  pretentions 
of  the  women  Unexpectedly ;  the  expression  of  a  wish  for  a 
plan  to  humble  Pauline  is  Unexpected;  the  opportunity  of 
executing  that  plan  in  hearing  of  Melnotte  as  a  prince  is 
Unexpected;  that  Melnotte,  the  gardener's  son,  loves  Pau- 
line is  Unexpected;  that  he  has  sent  a  message  to  her 
with  love  verses;  that  his  messenger  has  been  spurned; 


the:  unexpected  261 

that  he  is  in  a  state  of  mind  to  consider  the  offer  of  the 
conspirators;  that  he  accepts;  are  also  in  a  manner  Un- 
expected. Even  the  details  of  the  treatment  of  the  jewels 
confided  to  him  are  new  to  us.  The  cause  of  the  suspicion 
of  Damas  and  his  means  of  testing  Melnotte,  the  result  of 
the  duel  which  makes  a  friend  of  Damas,  the  effect  on  the 
conscience  of  Melnotte,  the  oath  that  binds  Melnotte,  the 
manner  in  which  Beauseant  forces  an  immediate  marriage 
through  fear  of  the  Directory,  taking  Pauline  to  his  moth- 
er's cottage,  all  the  happenings  there,  the  coming  of  Beau- 
seant, the  conduct  of  Melnotte  and  the  general  change 
from  resentment  to  love  on  the  part  of  Pauline,  and  all 
the  happenings  in  the  last  act  are  either  Unexpected  in 
themselves  or  in  the  manner  of  their  evolution.  Examine 
every  line,  and  innumerable  details  of  Unexpectedness  will 
be  found.  Destroy,  by  giving  Unnecessary  and  precipitate 
information,  this  Unexpectedness  and  you  have  no  play. 
Suppose  the  audience  had  known  in  the  first  scene  that 
the  flowers  were  from  Melnotte?  Suppose  Beauseant  had 
known  of  the  love  of  the  gardener's  son  and  of  the  title 
given  him  by  the  villagers  from  the  opening  of  the  play? 
Suppose  the  messenger  had  been  spurned  before  the  open- 
ing of  the  play?  The  present  dramatic  development  of  the 
story,  largely  by  means  of  the  Unexpected,  would  be  impos- 
sible. Entire  scenes  would  not  have  occurred  to  the  author 
at  all. 

The  Unexpected  is  a  resultant  rather  than  a  primary 
element  in  a  play.  It  is  to  be  found  in  the  Plot,  but  be- 
comes of  more  and  more  use  as  we  proceed,  having  a  con- 
siderable function  in  the  Dialogue  itself.  The  Construc- 
tion of  a  play  provides  for  a  certain  part  of  it.  It  is  such  a  ' 
valuable  element  that  it  is  largely  used^by  way  of  trick '  V 
in  melodramas  and  plays  of  situation.  Camille,  being  a 
drama  of  emotion,  does  not  furnish  us  With  any  extraor- 
dinary number  of  examples.  Still,  its  influence  and  use 
extend  through  the  play,  and  we  find  a  number  of  marked 
illustrations.     It  is  in  the  nature  of  the  drama  that  the 


262  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE^ 

development  of  the  Action  should  constantly  unfold  new 
things,  new  relations,  and  a  multiplied  series  of  Causes 
and  Effects.  If  it  did  not  do  so,  it  would  not  be  drama, 
and  would  be  exceedingly  stale  and  unprofitable.  In  the 
opening  of  the  play  we  are  expecting  Camille;  Unexpect- 
edly, it  is  Nichette  who  comes.  This  is  not  exactly  a  trick, 
but  it  counts.  The  Construction  of  the  scene  and  the 
Sequence  of  ideas  require  that  we  should  first  see  Var- 
ville  waiting  for  Camille.  In  a  sense,  all  that  develops 
concerning  Nichette  is  Unexpected,  because  new  to  us, 
but  for  the  present  we  shall  confine  the  examples  to  the 
more  significant  things  and  turns  in  the  Action.  It 
is  Unexpected  that  Camille  once  worked  as  an  embroid- 
eress.  Even  Varville  did  not  know  that  before.  It 
is  a  new  fact,  and  in  that  sense  the  Unexpected,  that  Var- 
ville's  suit  does  not  thrive,  while  the  whole  history  of  Ca- 
mille in  her  relations  with  the  Due  de  Meuriac  is  Unex- 
pected. It  may  be  said  that  Camille's  entrance  is  Unex- 
pected at  the  moment,  for  we  have  been  interested  and 
wholly  absorbed  in  her  history  by  Nanine.  The  nature  of 
her  illness  when  it  first  comes  to  our  attention  is  Unex- 
pected. That  Prudence  has  a  young  man  with  her  when 
she  is  called  is  Unexpected,  and  Prudence's  announcement 
to  Camille  that  this  young  man  is  "the  man  of  all  Paris 
who  loves  you  the  most"  is  Unexpected.  This  modesty  and 
seriousness  of  character  is  Unexpected.  That  Camille  should 
begin  to  like  him,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  we  know  that 
she  cares  for  no  one,  is  Unexpected.  That  his  reference 
to  his  sister  attracts  Camille's  attention,  is  Unexpected.! 
Apart  from  the  Action  of  the  supper  scene,  which  has  been 
fully  discussed,  it  is  well  to  note  that  the  scene  is  full  of 
the  Unexpected  in  the  way  of  repartee.  For  instance, 
Madam  Prudence:  Age!  and  what  age  do  you  think  I 
am?"  Gaston:  "I  do  not  know.  Indeed,  I  never  studied 
ancient  history,  but  you  do  not  look  more  than  forty, 
upon  my  honor!"  Prudence:  "Forty!  thirty-six,  if  you 
please."      Gaston:     "Forty  and  thirty-six.     Seventy — well, 


THE  UNEXPE:CTED  263 

it  does  look  more  like  that,  I  confess."  The  character  of 
Armand's  talk  with  Camille  is  wholly  Unexpected,  for  it 
is  on  a  loftier  plane  than  could  have  been  anticipated. 
There  are  also  many  turns  of  Unexpected  emotion  in  this 
scene.  The  result  of  the  scene  is  Unexpected.  For  the 
first  time  Camille  finds  "a  new  found  meaning  in  those 
simple  words  that  never  fell  upon  my  ears  before."  The 
second  act  opens  with  the  Unexpected  turn  of  affairs, 
when  we  see  Camille  preparing  to  seek  the  retirement  of  a 
country  home  and  receiving  money  for  that  purpose  from 
De  Meuriac.  In  a  minor  way,  the  little  incident  of  Pru- 
dence's borrowing  the  three  or  four  hundred  francs  is 
Unexpected.  That  Armand  has  seen  Varville  leave  the 
house  and  is  jealous  is  Unexpected.  The  letter  from  Arm- 
and is  Unexpected.  Camille's  giving  the  letter  to  Varville 
to  read  is  Unexpected.  That  she  accepts  Varville's  invi- 
tation to  supper  is  Unexpected,  and  the  incidents  of  her 
eddying  passion  are  Unexpected,  as  when  Camille  enters- 
quickly  for  a  warmer  wrap  than  a  shawl.  That  Varville 
leaves  in  anger  instead  of  waiting  for  her  outside  is  Un- 
expected. There  is  some  preparation  for  Camille's  return, 
but  Armand's  impetuous  urgings  in  the  scene  which  follows 
are  Unexpected,  and  her  Action  in  tearing  up  Varville's  let- 
ter and  yielding  to  Armand  are  all  the  more  Unexpected  in 
that  the  moment  before  receiving  the  Unexpected  letter, 
she  has  told  Armand  to  leave.  The  strongest  example  of 
the  Unexpected  is  the  entrance  of  Armand's  father.  The 
Unexpectedness  is  emphasized  by  Camille  believing  him  to^y 
be  the  agent  who  has  charge  of  the  sale.  This  is  art, 
and  not  a  mere  trick.  The  surprise,  however,  is  carefully 
managed.  Almost  from  the  very  beginning  of  the  scene 
we  learn  with  surprise  that  it  is  the  father  of  Armand.  If 
one  word  had  been  spoken  before  this  to  lead  us  to  antici- 
pate his  appearance  the  effect  would  have  been  destroyed. 
While  it  is  Unexpected,  it  is  exactly  what  might  have 
been  expected  in  the  circumstances;  it  is  Self- Explana- 
tory.    The   Unexpected    extends    throughout    the    scene. 


264  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPLE 

What  will  Camille  do?  The  Unexpected  is  not  answered 
until,  at  the  very  close,  she  proceeds  to  the  table  to  write 
the  letter  which  is  so  fateful  to  her.  But  her  sacrifice 
is  not  accomplished  without  a  struggle  in  which  the  Unex- 
pected is  constantly  playing  a  part.  The  Unexpected  in 
this  scene  is  all  embracing,  for  it  involves  Camille  and  Arm- 
and's  father,  as  well  as  the  audience.  It  is  Unexpected  that 
Armand  arrives  just  as  she  finishes  the  letter.  It  is  also 
Unexpected  that  she  is  able  to  stand  the  ordeal  of  her  in- 
terview without  revealing  to  him  her  secret.  The  rapid 
incidents  that  close  the  act  are  all  incidental  surprises. 
Certain  facts  are  Unexpected  by  Armand,  and  the  manner 
in  which  they  are  conveyed  to  the  audience  is  Unexpected 
by  the  audience.  We  are  kept  in  a  constant  state  of  ex- 
pectation during  the  Fourth  act,  and  whenever  there  is  a 
doubt  as  to  the  issue,  this  expectation  necessarily  involves 
the  Unexpected.  Thus,  the  Unexpected  is  of  the  very  es- 
sence of  the  drama.  Camille  would  not  have  sent  for 
Armand  in  order  to  talk  with  him  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  Unexpected  reference  to  the  duel,  and  their  talk  is 
wholly  Unexpected  in  nature,  while  the  act  Unexpectedly 
ends  by  Armand's  throwing  a  shower  of  notes  and  gold 
upon  Camille  in  payment  for  her  sacrifice.  Varville's  re- 
senting this  is  not  Unexpected,  but  the  action  is.  It  is  Unex- 
pected that  Camille,  in  the  last  act,  should  be  abandoned 
by  all.  The  Episodic  happenings  in  the  first  part  of  the 
act  are  Unexpected  while  the  audience  hopes  Armand  will 
come,  the  fact  that  Camille  expects  him  to  come  is  with- 
held until,  in  her  monologue,  she  reads  the  letter  from 
Armand's  father  which  she  has  had  for  six  weeks.  She 
has  reason  to  give  up  hope  for  Armand's  appearance  be- 
fore her  death.  Armand's  Unexpected  appearance  is  man- 
aged well.  Camille  realizes  it  is  he  who  is  coming  before 
she  is  actually  told.  Of  course,  at  this  point,  the  resources 
of  the  play  are  about  exhausted,  and  it  only  remains  for 
the  Unexpected,  which  was  in  the  Proposition  of  the  play, 
to  be  realized  at  the  very  last,  the  purification  of  Camille 


THE  UNEXPECTED  265 

by  love  and  sacrifice  and  the  reuniting  of  the  lovers.  Inas- 
much as  the  play  opens  with  expectancy,  it  is  obvious  that, 
while  the  Unexpected  is  a  dominant  and  distinct  dramatic 
principle,  we  cannot  exclude  expectancy.  The  Action  is 
compounded  of  both.  Expectancy  is  usually  on  tiptoe,  but 
there  is  a  great  difference  between  Expectancy  and  the 
Expected.  A  part  only  of  the  Expected  is  given  at  a  time. 
There  is  always  something  remaining  to  whet  the  appe- 
tite and  leave  it  unsatisfied  up  to  the  solution  of  that  par- 
ticular thing.  The  Unexpected  is  the  larger  element  and 
involves  the  Expected.  The  Unexpected  is  the  prevailing 
element  to  that  extent  that  the  very  opposite  of  what  may 
be  expected  often  takes  place.  Of  course,  this  cannot 
happen  to  the  reversal  of  that  which  is  structural  and  a 
logical  result,  but  it  proves  the  domination  of  the  Unex- 
pected. The  Unexpected  may  occur  in  varying  degrees, 
from  a  fulfillment  of  the  Expected  (only  perhaps  in  a  dif- 
ferent way,  or  by  means  that  are  not  foreseen)  or  it  may 
be  absolutely  Unexpected,  but  immediately  Self-Explana- 
tory.  Thus,  it  may  be  noted  what  great  care  is  taken  by 
Dumas  to  have  the  entrance  of  Duval,  the  father,  a  com- 
plete surprise.  No  one  could  expect  his  arrival  at  that 
particular  moment,  but  we  have  called  attention  to  the 
device  of  having  it  supposed  that  it  is  the  agent.  Prepa- 
ration involves  the  Expected,  but  it  will  be  observed  that 
the  conflict  in  the  Action  is  always  so  arranged  that  there 
is  doubt,  otherwise  there  would  be  no  Action  whatever.  If 
the  Preparation  is  too  obvious  and  too  elaborate,  the  ex- 
pectation becomes  a  certainty,  and  the  Action  is  either  im- 
paired or  destroyed.  In  the  early  scene  of  the  first  act, 
preparation  is  made  for  the  supper;  that  is  absolute. 
There  is  no  doubt  whatever  involved  at  this  moment,  or 
any  other  moment,  as  to  the  holding  of  the  supper,  but  it 
is  early  in  the  Action,  and  is  a  presentation  of  Facts.  The 
Unexpected  is  to  happen  during  the  supper.  The  devel- 
opment of  new  things  has  in  it  a  certain  Unexpectedness 
of  the  moment,  but  it  is  of  the   Unexpectedness  of  the 


266  ANAIvYSIS    O^   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

future  that  we  speak  in  using  the  term  Unexpected.  There 
is  no  over-preparation  in  this  case.  The  supper  is  the  back- 
ground for  the  real  Action.  What  Camille's  companions 
say  and  do  develops  character  and  supplies  atmosphere, 
but  it  does  not  advance  the  Plot  proper  in  the  slightest 
degree.  It  is  full  of  little  bits  of  Unexpectedness  and  is 
an  excellent  example  of  minor  Action.  Expectancy  or 
Preparation  was  needed  for  the  coming  of  Camille;  ex- 
pectation or  Preparation  for  the  entrance  of  Nichette  was 
wholly  unnecessary.  The  moment  she  made  her  appear- 
ance there  was  a  rapid  development  of  Unexpected  facts 
and  relations.  All  the  Unexpectedness  of  the  immediate 
Action  while  she  is  on  the  stage  would  have  been  utterly 
destroyed  by  too  much  Preparation.  Unexpectedness  is 
commonly  an  element  that  is  almost  invariably  destroyed 
by  the  beginner  by  means  of  Story.  Why  could  not  Var- 
ville  and  Nanine  have  discussed  Camille's  friends?  Why 
could  not  Nanine  in  the  very  first  scene  have  told  all  about 
Nichette?  It  would  have  been  natural  enough,  it  could 
have  happened  in  Life,  and  the  unknowing  writer  would 
have  inevitably  fallen  into  mere  talk  and  Words.  It  would 
have  been  matter  in  its  wrong  place.  It  would  have  been 
disorder;  it  would  have  been  undramatic;  it  would  have 
been  taking  out  all  the  force  from  the  scene  in  which 
Nichette  figures.  There  would  have  been  little  or  nothing 
for  her  to  do  or  say.  It  would  have  been  in  wrong  Se- 
quence, without  Cause  and  Eflfect,  and  would  have  been 
lacking  as  to  the  structure  of  the  play  and  as  to  the  details 
of  treatment;  all  economy  would  have  been  disregarded 
and  repetition  would  have  ensued.  On  the  other  hand,  ex- 
pectations in  regard  to  Camille,  her  personal  appearance 
and  character,  are  excited  by  means  of  the  Preparation, . 
which  is  careful  and  not  over  elaborate,  as  elaborate  as  it  is.- J 
Naturally  enough,  in  the  preliminary  work  and  in  the 
process  of  thought  in  working  toward  a  complete  play, 
Unexpected  ideas  and  combinations  come  to  the  dramatist. 
It  is  one  of  his  pleasures  and  compensations.    As  the  work 


TH^  UNEXPECTED  267 

progresses,  and  the  actual  writing  of  the  Dialogue  is  in 
hand,  it  narrows  down  to  turns  of  expression,  repattee 
and  smaller  combinations.  But  to  imagine  that  everything 
that  happens  in  a  play  is  as  Unexpected  to  the  author  as 
to  the  characters  and  to  the  audience  would  be  the  wildest 
kind  of  absurdity.  For  the  most  part,  the  Unexpected 
things  which  happen  in  the  play  have  happened  in  the 
mind  of  the  dramatist  long  before.  He  is  the  wizard  who 
can  tell  you  the  past  and  the  future,  and  he  can  do  it 
in  the  right  way  only  if  he  is  a  master  of  his  art.  |We  have 
already  exposed  the  absurdity  of  telling  in  advance  what 
is  going  to  happen,  and  have  urged  the  necessity  of  things 
happening  as  they  do  in  life.  Unexpectedly,  inasmuch  as 
no  man  can  tell  the  future.  A  natural  tendency  of  the  be-  * 
ginner  is  to  tell  the  audience  at  once  all  that  he  has  in  ' 
mind ;  whereas,  Facts  and  ideas  and  relations  have  to  be  ' 
unfolded  gradually  and  by  means  of  the  Action,  and  there  (  / 
are  innumerable  things  belonging  to  the  Conditions  Prece- 
dent that  cannot  be  brought  into  the  Action  until  the  prop-  ' 
er  time,  at  a  much  later  period  than  the  opening  of  the  play. 
Thus  it  is  that  matters  of  the  past  are  presented  in  an 
Unexpected  way.  Matters  of  the  future  can  by  no  possi- 
bility be  presented  in  any  other  way.  They  must  be  Un- 
expected. This  Unexpectedness  is  provided  for,  beginning 
with  the  beginning,  in  the  Sequence  of  the  Plot,  and  this 
Sequence  must  be  a  dramatic  Sequence  which  in  its  nature 
is  a  progressive  development  of  new  things  all  the  time.  If 
we  take  the  first  scene  in  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep,"  we 
see  at  once  that  Mildmay  is  considered  of  no  consequence 
in  his  own  household.  It  is  an  admirable  scene,  devoted 
entirely  to  establishing  the  premises.  The  one  fact,  it  is 
true,  remains  throughout  the  scene,  but  we  are  constantly 
getting  new  details  of  the  manner  in  which  he  is  treated 
and  of  the  conditions  which  lie  at  the  bottom  of  this  state 
of  affairs.  We  see  that  the  wife  is  distempered.  Unex- 
pectedly, we  see  that  the  aunt  is  encouraging  her  in  her 
state  of  mind ;  Unexpectedly,  we  see  that  Potter  joins  with 


268  ANALYSIS    0^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI,!: 

them  in  their  chorus  of  nagging;  Unexpectedly,  we  get 
the  fact  that  Mildmay  and  Emily  have  been  married  one 
year;  Unexpectedly,  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  has  appointed  a 
dinner  party  which  Unexpectedly  interferes  with  Mild- 
may's  invitation  to  a  quiet  little  dinner  with  his  wife ;  Un- 
expectedly, we  get  one  of  the  causes  of  the  wife's  disil- 
lusionment as  to  Mildmay,  for  he  is  domestic  and  simple 
in  his  tastes,  loving  the  old  songs  rather  than  the  classic 
music  which  she  plays,  and  is  prosaic  enough  to  earth  up 
the  celery.  Unexpectedly,  we  get  the  little  detail  of  Emi- 
ly's playing  for  her  aunt  after  she  had  refused  to  play  for 
her  husband.  Unexpectedly,  we  see  that  Potter,  too,  is 
under  the  dominion  of  Mrs.  Sternhold,  for  he  is  apologetic 
and  self-depreciative  and  avoids  exciting  the  temper  of  his 
sister.  Unexpectedly,  we  hear  Mrs.  Sternhold's  astound- 
ing assertion  as  Mildmay  apparently  lies  asleep,  "that  he 
has  no  will  of  his  own,  you  can  do  what  you  will  with  him 
if  you  only  take  the  trouble."  Unexpectedly,  it  is  devel- 
oped that  Emily  is  not  interested  in  her  husband  because 
he  does  not  share  her  feelings,  and  does  not  "invest  her 
life  with  something  of  poetry— of  romance."  Unexpectedly, 
we  see  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  is  a  practical  woman  of  busi- 
ness with  her  mind  on  safe  investments  in  three  per  cents. 
It  is  expected  that  Mildmay  is  going  to  Manchester  that 
night  by  the  mail  train.  It  has  no  particular  significance 
apparently  at  this  moment,  but  it  is  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance to  the  future  development  of  the  Action.  When 
Emily  inquires  for  her  Tennyson  it  is  not  Unexpected  ex- 
cept as  to  detail,  but  it  brings  out  more  clearly  the  senti- 
mentality of  Mrs.  Mildmay,  who  now  speaks  of  her  with- 
ered heart.  The  little  scene  in  which  this  occurs  is  connec- 
tive, is  designed  to  get  her  off  the  stage,  and  has  that 
minor  quality  of  the  Unexpected  meant  for  intensive  effect 
and  for  the  mechanical  purpose  of  the  Action.  The  scene 
between  Mrs.  Sternhold  and  Potter  is  full  of  Unexpected 
things;  Conditions  Precedent,  emotions  of  the  moment, 
conflicts    of   character,   and   facts   and   developments   that 


THE  UNEXPECTED  269     — 

belong  to  the  structure  of  the  play  and  the  development  of 
the  Action.    Unexpectedly  important  Conditions  Precedent 
are  brought  out.     The  talk  is  now  about  the  request  that 
Mrs.  Sternhold  has  made  that  Potter  make  certain  invest- 
ments.    Observe  that  nothing  has  been  said  about  Hawk- 
sley's  schemes  to  get  them  to  invest  up  to  this  point.    The 
thirteen   speeches   between   them   up   to  the   time   of  the 
mention   of  Hawksley's  "Galvanic   Navigation   Company" 
are  sustained  almost  entirely  by  means  of  the  Unexpected. 
Consider  the  beginning  of  this  scene  with  reference  to  the 
Action,  and  you  will  find  that  the  audience's  interest  in  it 
is  sustained  by  the  curiosity  to  know  what  she  wants  Pot- 
ter to  do,  why  Potter  is  reluctant  to  do  it,  and  whether  she 
will  succeed  in  getting  him  to  do  it.     It  is  a  matter  of 
treatment,   of   Sequence.     If  she  had  at  once  conveyed  to 
the  audience  that  the  money  was  to  be  invested,  the  atten- 
tion of  the  audience  would  not  be  so  closely  directed  to 
what  we  pointed  out  as  the  true  Action  of  the  scene,  for 
Potter  would  have  immediately  told  of  his  suspicions  of 
Hawksley.     The  facts  which  Potter  states  about  Emily's 
eight     thousand     pounds     and     the     discussion     over     it 
interests       us     sufficiently     for     the     moment.       When 
Hawksley's  Company  is  mentioned  we  get  progress,  de- 
velopment, the  Unexpected.     We  have  a  development  of 
facts,  conditions  and  relations  up  to  this  point  also,  and 
these  facts  and  Conditions  and  Relations  are  anything  but 
passive,  anything  but  mere  facts.     As  small  as  the  details 
are,  they   are  Unexpected.     When   Mrs.   Sternhold  urges 
that  Emily  is  Potter's  only  child,  and  that  all  Potter  has 
will  be  hers  at  his   death,  it  is  an  active  argument,  not 
merely  a  passive  fact,  and  interests  us  for  its  bearing  on 
the  state  of  mind  of  these  two  people.    It  is  not  a  passive 
fact  that  is  Unexpectedly  given  in  the  statement  that  there 
is  a  difference  of  ^  eighteen    years    between    Potter's    age 
and  Jane's.     It  is  not  the  mere  Unexpectedness  of  these 
facts  that  interests  us  so  much  as  that  they  stir  up  the 
Action,  they  amuse  us  in  their  bearings  on  the  moment. 


270  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE: 

We  Unexpectedly  get  the  fact  that  Potter  has  already  in- 
vested one  thousand  pounds  in  the  shares,  and  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold,  for  the  first  time,  in  an  Unexpected  way  at  least,  re- 
veals to  us  what  she  asked  Potter  to  do  before  dinner, 
namely,  that  Potter  should  take  Hawksley's  offer  for  a 
thousand  more  of  the  shares,  as  she  had  promised  Hawk- 
sley  that  he  would.  Unexpectedly,  we  find  that  Potter 
is  a  little  doubtful  about  the  safety  of  the  investment. 
Unexpectedly,  we  hear  the  womanlike  argument  of  Mrs. 
Sternhold  that  Hawksley  is  a  gentleman.  Unexpectedly,  we 
hear  that  Hawksley  is  to  call  that  evening  to  arrange  the 
business  matter.  You  may  weary  of  this  iteration  or  giv- 
ing of  the  Unexpected,  and  may  consider  it  a  matter  of 
course,  but  you  will  discover  how  wide  of  the  mark  you 
are  the  very  moment  you  attempt  to  make  all  or  any  ma- 
terial part  of  these  Unexpected  things  Expected.  It  was 
the  author's  art  alone,  his  dramatic  art,  that  made  these 
things  Unexpected;  Unexpected  in  the  smallest  details, 
and  so  giving  vitality  to  the  Action.  Then  comes  a  sur- 
prisingly Unexpected  thing.  Potter  tells  of  his  having 
observed  some  questionable  conduct  between  Emily  and 
Hawksley.  In  bringing  this  out,  many  Unexpected  details 
from  the  Conditions  Precedent  are  involved.  Hawksley 
had  shown  attention  to  Emily  before  her  marriage,  Potter 
fancied  she  might  have  married  him  if  Mrs.  Sternhold  had 
not  set  her  face  against  it ;  and  we  see  from  the  Conditions 
Precedent  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  never  thought  she  liked  him 
at  all.  This  is  a  material  point,  for  it  provides  an  Unex- 
pected tonic  to  her  when  she  learns  exactly  what  Potter 
has  seen.  Is  there  enough  of  the  Unexpected  in  this  to  sus- 
tain the  Action?  or  would  you  have  anticipated  in  this 
scene  or  before  it  one  of  the  most  startling  bits  of  Unex- 
pectedness in  the  play,  namely,  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  her- 
self had  been  carrying  on  a  very  serious  flirtation  with 
Hawksley!  Does  not  the  Action  of  the  play  maintain 
itself,  and  is  not  the  attention  of  the  audience  sufficiently 
excited  in  the  little  connective  scene,  scene  four,  in  which 


THE  UNEXPECTED  27 1 

Mrs.  Sternhold  is  alone,  and  determines  to  be  satisfied 
when  she  sees  Hawksley  and  Emily  come  into  the  house, 
he  gathering  a  rose  for  her?  If  it  were  not  for  the  Unex- 
pected, the  potency  of  which  the  dramatist  thoroughly  un- 
derstood, he  would  not  have  been  satisfied  here  without 
having  Mrs.  Sternhold  reveal  to  us  that  which  she  does 
only  after  she  witnesses  the  scene  between  Emily  and 
Hawksley.  Nor  does  that  little  monologue,  scene  sixth, 
reveal  the  extent  of  her  relations  with  Hawksley,  and  no 
hint  is  given  of  the  thirteen  letters.  If  the  dramatist  had 
revealed  prematurely  these  Unexpected  things  he  might 
still  have  left  a  few  other  Unexpected  details,  but  he  would 
not  have  enough  left  to  make  a  ragout  out  of  it.  I  call 
attention  to  the  value  of  the  Unexpected  here  particularly 
to  emphasize  the  fact  that  the  value  of  the  Unexpected  is 
not  in  mere  Unexpectedness.  The  Unexpected  must  be 
managed  with  reference  to  the  Plot  and  the  development 
of  the  Action.  The  Plot,  which  is  made  up  of  a  certain 
number  of  happenings  or  results.  Causes  and  Effects,  is 
compact  with  the  Unexpected.  The  Plot  being  further  di- 
vided into  scenes,  each  scene  has  the  Unexpected  in  one 
form  or  another,  and  the  Action  of  the  scene  is  full  of  Un- 
expected details.!  Thus,  we  may  give  the  Unexpected 
object  or  result  of  the  scene  between  Mrs.  Mildmay  and 
Hawksley  as  one  thing,  that  Hawksley  has  designs  against 
her,  the  proof  of  which  we  have,  and  that  Mrs.  Sternhold 
hears  it.  The  scene  Action  is  replete  with  the  Unexpected. 
The  very  manner  in  which  Hawksley  is  making  his  cam- 
paign against  Emily,  attacking  her  heart  on  the  one  side 
which  is  undefended,  namely,  her  sentimentality,  is  some- 
thing of  a  surprise.  The  way  in  which  he  does  this,  his 
^carefully  studied  fiction  of  Seville,  is  Unexpected  to  us. 
rThe  proposals  which  he  makes  are  new  and  startling;  the 
^  means  which  he  has  taken  have  a  surprising  audacity.  That 
a  man  should  have  given  a  watchful  mastiff  to  a  woman 
whom  he  is  pursuing,  knowing  that  the  mastiff  would  ad- 
mit him  night  or  day,  and  the  further  fact  that  the  uncon- 


272  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPLE 

scionable  rascal  had  taken  the  bolt  off  the  glass  door,  are 
as  Unexpected  as  anybody  could  ask  for.;  You  most  cer- 
tainly are  getting  your  money's  wOfth  in  Unexpectedness. 
We  have  had  just  enough  to  know  that  Mrs.  Sternhold, 
who  is  waiting  behind  the  screen  overhearing  things,  has 
had  a  little  of  the  same  kind  of  cajolery,  minus  the  bolt  and 
the  mastiff.  It  does  not  impair  the  Unexpectedness  of 
what  is  going  to  happen  to  Hawksley  when  she  talks  with 
him  that  we  expect  a  lively  interview.  In  point  of  fact, 
we  get  a  great  deal  more  than  we  expect.  We  know  that 
Mrs.  Sternhold  has  a  temper  of  her  own,  and  we  expect 
her  to  sail  into  Hawksley  with  beak  and  talon,  but  we  do 
not  expect  Hawksley  to  be  quite  so  cool  and  resourceful. 
We  never  dream  of  these  thirteen  letters ;  we  have  not  had 
an  inkling  of  any  of  them.  The  object  of  the  scene  be- 
tween Hawksley  and  Mrs.  Sternhold  is  to  checkmate  Mrs. 
Sternhold.  This  was  the  Unexpected  Plot  Action  involv- 
ing innumerable  Unexpected  little  turns.  We  rather  ex- 
pect that  Mrs.  Sterhold  will  interrupt  the  conversation  be- 
tween Emily  and  Hawksley,  but,  Unexpectedly,  she  does 
not.  We  get  the  reason  why  she  does  not  forthwith  when 
the  two  go  off,  for  we  learn  for  the  first  time  that  she  has 
been  in  love  with  Hawksley  herself.  She  would  hardly 
want  to  expose  herself  to  Emily.  She  is  saving  it  up  for 
Hawksley,  and  we  expect  good  interest  in  an  interview 
that  is  bound  to  come. 

While  there  are  a  multitude  of  Unexpected  things  in  the 
Plot  of  "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,"  with  one  coup  de 
theatre,  that  of  the  razed  deed,  the  play  is  more  remarkable 
for  its  solidity  and  its  richness  of  its  Material.  Massinger 
does  not  use  the  Unexpected  as  a  trick  but  there  is  some- 
thing new  all  the  time,  either  heard  for  the  first  time,  or  put 
in  a  new  light  under  different  conditions.  We  see  a  drunk- 
en outcast  refused  "the  dropping  of  the  tap  for  his  morn- 
ing's draught,"  treated  with  scorn,  contumely,  by  Tapwell 
and  Froth,  when  we  are  suddenly  surprised  by  the  fact 
that  this  outcast  has  given  them  the   Inn;  that  Tapwell 


THK  UNEXPECTED  273 

was  born  on  Wellborn's  father's  estate.  These  facts  arouse 
our  curiosity,  and  we  listen  with  interest  to  the  details 
as  they  are  unfolded.  They  are  new,  because  they  are  par- 
ticularly pertinent  and  subordinate  to  the  situation.  We 
are  interested  in  the  detailed  account  of  the  career  of  the 
spendthrift,  and  every  detail  is  new.  The  quarrel  brings 
out  little  facts  of  the  past  which  have  a  new  bearing  on  the 
present,  all  contributing  to  our  desire  that  Wellborn,  when 
he  gets  his  stick  into  play,  will  not  "leave  one  bone  unbro- 
ken." There  is  a  newness  throughout  the  entire  scene,  for 
the  Action  of  the  moment  is  in  constant  play.  Surely  this 
outcast  is  without  friends,  else  these  time  servers  would 
not  have  dared  to  treat  him  thus.  But  suddenly  and  Un- 
expectedly appears  Allworth,  whose  friendly  address  to 
him,  "Frank !"  assures  us  that  he  is  Wellborn's  friend.  A 
friend  with  social  position,  well  dressed,  sober,  in  full  pos- 
session of  his  manhood.  Thereupon  is  developed  that  upon 
which  our  curiosity  is  excited.  Who  is  this  young  man? 
He  has  a  step-mother,  the  widow  of  his  father,  who  mourns 
for  him  still,  who  denies  herself  to  suitors.  Every  detail  is 
new,  for  our  whetted  curiosity  is  answered.  Unexpectedly, 
it  develops  that  the  outcast  has  been  the  friend  of  All- 
worth's  father,  and  he  has  reason  to  give  him  advice.  About 
what?  You  will  see  that  we  are  anticipating  indefinitely 
those  things  which  are  on  the  moment  to  become  definite, 
but  new  to  us,  and  to  gratify  our  curiosity.  Curiosity 
draws  us  on.  Soon  our  sympathies  are  to  ally  themselves 
with  our  curiosity,  and  other  elements  join  themselves 
thereto,  and  we  are  to  surrender  to  the  compelling  Action  of 
the  play.  We  had  heard  of  Sir  Giles  Overreach  in  the 
quarrel  between  Tapwell  and  Wellborn,  and  Unexpectedly, 
we  learn  that  Sir  Giles  has  a  daughter,  Margaret,  and  that 
Allworth  loves  her.  Why  should  Wellborn  warn  him 
against  a  union  with  this  fair  and  blameless  creature?  We 
have  the  new  fact,  that  Sir  Giles,  the  base  churl,  had  ruined 
Allworth's  father.  The  victim,  then,  of  Sir  Giles  reasons 
well,  and  puts  his  remonstrance  on  a  firm  basis.  Allworth 
18 


274  ANAI^YSIS   OlP  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

is  amply  able  to  help  Wellborn,  and  it  is  surely  Unexpected 
when  Wellborn  refuses  his  offer  to  relieve  his  wants.  The 
very  reasons  that  Wellborn  gives  are  Unexpected  to  us. 
We  have  seen  that  Allworth  is  "a  boy,"  but  we  had  not 
considered  that  he  was  so  dependent  that  he  lived  at  the 
uncertain  favor  of  a  Lord.  It  is  Unexpected  to  us  that  a 
man,  accoutered  as  he  is,  who  has  just  been  thrust  out  of 
an  ale  house,  and  knows  not  where  to  eat,  or  drink,  or 
sleep  but  underneath  the  canopy  of  the  heavens,  should 
have  so  much  spirit  as  to  refuse  even  that  which  would 
buy  him  what  would  allay  his  thirst.  It  is  amazing  that 
the  experience  which  he  has  just  had  has  wrought  such  a 
change  in  him,  aroused  the  nobility  of  character  in  him, 
and,  on  the  instant,  made  a  man  of  him.  The  scene  closes 
with  Wellborn's  announcement  that  as  "in  his  madness  he 
broke  his  state"  he  will  rehabilitate  it  "without  the  assist- 
ance of  another's  brain."  How  will  he  do  it?  We  are  left 
wholly  unsatisfied,  and  surely  when  we  do  see  the  means 
which  he  adopts,  it  will  be  Unexpected  and  new  to  us. 
The  closer  we  examine  the  operations  of  the  principles,  the 
more  clearly  we  see  what  a  strong  ally  it  is  of  Action.  The 
Unexpectedness  which  we  can  distinguish  so  plainly  in  its 
own  function,  seems  to  be  the  very  essence  of  the  Action. 
Still,  it  is  only  a  part  of  the  Action.  See  how  beautiful  a 
principle  it  is!  See  how  it  involves  doubt,  hope,  expecta- 
tion, curiosity,  awakens  interest  and  keeps  interest  alive. 
It  is  a  lambent  spirit  that  runs  throughout  the  plav^^jjid 
suddenly  at  the  appointed  time  bursts  into  flame.  /When 
the  Action  is  true,  when  the  play  is  a  real  play,  everything 
is  bound  to  be  new,  because  it  has  never  before  existed  on 
earth.  It  grows  out  of  the  development  of  the  moment.  It 
must  be  Unexpected.  |Even  the  development  of  what  may 
be  called  passive  facts,  or  what  seem  to  be  mere  conditions 
at  the  time,  are  interesting,  if  the  dramatist  has  the  skill 
to  make  them  interesting.  The  servants  whom  we  see  in 
the  hall  of  Lady  Allworth's  house  interest  us  because  we 
know  that  Lady  Allworth  is  the  step-dame  of  the  young 


TH^  UNEXPECTED  275 

man  who  had  proffered  his  assistance  to  Wellborn.  No 
doubt  Massinger's  dramatic  instinct  was  correct  in  with- 
holding from  us  the  expectation  of  Wellborn's  application 
to  Lady  Allworth  in  the  visit  which  he  is  about  to  make. 
Up  to  the  point  where  Lady  Allworth  Unexpectedly  warns 
her  step-son  against  companionship  with  Wellborn,  every- 
thing is  introductory  to  and  leads  up  to  these  passages, 
which  immediately  take  up  the  main  Action  again.  The 
scenes  themselves  are  filled  with  newness  in  the  way  of 
facts  and  the  development  of  the  conditions,  and  perhaps 
the  very  setting  forth  of  these  conditions,  the  bounty  and 
the  kindness,  the  purity,  and  the  reverence  for  the  memory 
of  the  husband,  of  Lady  Allworth  make  the  warning  to  her 
step-son  all  the  more  surprising.  There  were  technical 
reasons  that  governed  Massinger's  treatment  of  the  scenes 
leading  up  to  the  point  of  Unexpectedness,  after  the  Unex- 
pected arrival  of  Wellborn,  by  Lady  Allworth's  Unexpected 
consent  to  serve  him.  It  will  be  observed  that  where  there 
are  no  immediate  turns  in  the  main  Action,  the  minor  Action 
is  made  diverting  and  pays  its  own  way.  Of  course,  there  is 
an  element  of  Unexpectedness  in  finding  that  Sir  Giles  has 
provided  himself  with  such  a  cormorant  as  Justice  Greedy. 
We  have  our  curiosity  excited  at  once  as  to  why  the  sordid 
old  man  should  keep  in  his  employ  a  man  obsessed  with 
such  an  appetite.  The  reason  why  he  does  so  soon  appears. 
Justice  Greedy  has  plenty  of  appetite  and  no  conscience, 
and  the  manifestations  of  his  greed  take  many  diverting 
forms,  in  which  he  is  new  all  the  time.  In  point  of  fact,  as 
to  the  whole  play,  it  is  eternally  new,  it  will  never  grow 
old ;  and  no  small  part  of  that  newness  is  made  up  of  those 
Unexpected  things  which  make  each  moment  alive.  Note 
how  Unexpectedly  Wellborn  enters.  There  is  no  announce- 
ment. Wise  old  Massinger !  He  might  have  had  Wellborn 
in  altercation  "without."  He  might  have  done  many  things, 
dear  Inexpert.  Massinger  merely  wished  him  to  appear; 
presto,  he  was  there.  Goodness!  how  Unexpectedly  those 
wizards   like   Massinger  do  things.     What  a   complicated 


276  ANAIvYSiS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

Unexpectedness  it  is  that  Wellborn  should  come  at  the 
very  moment  that  Sir  Giles  is  there.  Of  course,  every 
atom  of  a  play  is  not  Unexpected,  but  there  is  never  an 
absence  of  the  Unexpected.  The  Unexpected  situation  em- 
braces all  the  details  of  the  situation  or  scene.  We  do  not 
get  over  our  wonder  at  the  apparition  of  the  outcast  in  this 
lordly  home,  where  even  the  attire  of  the  servants  puts 
him  to  shame,  before  there  is  a  turn  in  the  Action.  Per- 
haps we  are  not  surprised  at  the  treatment  of  Wellborn 
by  the  servants,  or  even  at  Wellborn's  disposal  of  their 
conduct  with  the  simple  comment,  "this  is  rare."  But  here 
is  a  surprise:  Tom  Allworth  enters,  Frank  addresses  Tom 
Allworth.  Note  that  when  they  first  meet,  in  the  first  scene 
of  the  play,  it  is  Allworth  who  addresses  him  as  Frank, 
Wellborn  does  not  then  address  him  as  Tom,  but  now  he 
does  it  heartily :  "Oh  !  here's  Tom  Allworth,  Tom  !"  All 
this  conjecture  that  the  Elizabethan  dramatists  wrote  from 
the  outpourings  of  genius  simply  is  discreditable  to  any 
man  of  intelligence.  It  may  be  that  Massinger  in  many 
of  his  plays  was  not  observant  of  his  art,  but  he  was  an 
artist.  The  little  point  to  which  we  call  attention  here 
demonstrates  his  art.  It  was  no  accident  whereby  Mas- 
singer  made  Wellborn  greet  Allworth  with  the  familiar 
name.  We  have  been  prepared  for  Allworth's  discounte- 
nance of  Wellborn,  but  we  are  surprised  at  Allworth's  Un- 
expected announcement  that  they  must  be  strangers,  and 
at  his  sudden  exit.  The  conduct  of  Tabitha  and  Abigail  is 
not  exactly  Unexpected,  but  it  gives  a  certain  newness  to 
the  scene  which  has  a  technical  use;  its  object  being  con- 
nective mainly.  Y  Wellborn  has  been  so  quiet  under  the 
taunts  of  Furnace,  Order  and  Amble,  and  the  finicky  re- 
marks of  Tabitha  and  Abigail,  after  he  has  been  disowned 
by  Allworth,  we  are  somewhat  surprised  at  his  Unexpected 
outbreak  of  anger  and  independence  when  he  will  not  go 
at  the  bidding  of  the  servants.  Here  comes  my  Lady.  Not 
Unexpected,  it  is  true;  but  it  fills  us  with  the  expectation 
of  Unexpected  things.    We  have  seen  that  our  Lady  is  dead 


the:  unexpected  2^^ 

set  against  our  scapegrace,  her  whole  moral  nature  is 
against  him,  what  chance  has  he  in  an  interview  with  her? 
Will  she  listen  to  him  at  all?  Has  she  not  kept  herself  so 
closely  guarded  against  intrusion  since  her  husband's  death 
that  she  has  received  no  one?  She  says  at  the  outset  that 
she  cannot  be  expected  to  fall  so  low  as  to  exchange  words 
with  him.  The  persuasiveness  and  gentleness  with  which 
Wellborn  claims  to  be  heard  is  in  such  contrast  to  his  man- 
ner when  first  we  saw  him  that  it  is  Unexpected.  True,  we 
have  heard  before  that  he  was  the  friend  of  Lady  All- 
worth's  husband,  but  we  did  not  know  before  that  this  hus- 
band was  once  as  low  in  his  fortune  almost  as  Wellborn, 
and  that  Wellborn  relieved  him,  that  Wellborn  stood  by 
him  with  his  sword  in  all  affairs  of  honor,  and  that  Well- 
born's  counsels  and  help  rehabilitated  him.  We  gradually 
lose  our  belief  that  she  will  turn  him  away,  for  he  has 
already  won  us  over,  while  Furnace  and  Order  have  echoed 
our  thoughts  and  anticipated  her  Action.  Observe  that  she 
speaks  hardly  a  word,  except  to  admit  the  truth  of  what  he 
says  in  a  single  line,  and  then  to  offer  him  her  purse,  and 
the  full  extent  of  his  plan  to  set  himself  upright  again  is 
disclosed  to  us  in  Unexpected  minuteness.  Every  detail 
of  it  is  interesting.  It  is  Unexpected  that  she  yields  every- 
thing, receiving  Wellborn  with  open  favor  and  charging 
her  servants  "to  throw  away  a  little  respect  upon  him." 
An  Unexpected  ending  to  the  Act  surely ;  it  is  indeed  a  new 
way  to  pay  old  debts. 

In  the  opening  of  the  second  act  there  is  a  constant  new 
development  of  the  character  of  Sir  Giles  and  his  relations 
with  Marrall.  The  Plot  also  in  a  preparatory  way  takes  on 
new  developments.  We  learn  for  the  first  time  of  Over- 
reach's definite  plans  for  his  daughter.  In  the  scene  be- 
tween Wellborn  and  Marrall,  the  newness  consists  mainly 
in  the  development  of  the  Action.  We  know  how  matters 
stand  between  Wellborn  and  Lady  Allworth,  and  appreci- 
ate the  irreverent  skepticism  of  Marrall  in  accepting  Well- 
born's   invitation   to   dine   with   him   at   Lady  Allworth's. 


278  ANAI^YSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPIvE 

It  is  a  development  which  promises  a  multitude  of  Unex- 
pected things.  The  courtesy  of  the  servants  to  Wellborn 
is  not  Unexpected,  but  the  situation  is  novel  because  of  its 
effect  on  Marrall.  Inasmuch  as  we  are  in  a  lively  state  of 
interest,  there  is  a  touch  of  the  Unexpected  in  all  the  de- 
tails of  the  manner  in  which  Wellborn  is  received.  Amaz- 
ing thing!  Lady  Allw!orth  receives  him  with  a  kiss,  "this 
first  kiss  is  for  form,  I  allow  a  second  to  such  a  friend." 
We  are  not  surprised  that  Marrall  is  completely  taken  in  by 
what  he  has  seen,  and  that  he  offers  to  serve  Wellborn,  nor 
is  it  Unexpected  that  he  should  tell  Sir  Giles  what  he  has 
seen,  nor  is  it  wholly  Unexpected  in  the  circumstances 
that  Sir  Giles  should  disbelieve  him  and  should  strike  "the 
idiot;"  but  it  is  all  in  the  nature  of  the  Unexpected,  even 
of  the  impossible  when  we  remember  the  opening  of  the 
play.  IWe  expect  results  from  these  combinations  and  hap- 
pdKngs,  but  these  expectations  are  necessarily  indefinite, 
so  that  the  future  is  not  wholly  discounted.  There  is  some- 
thing beyond  any  of  the  certainties  of  imagination.  New 
facts  and  bits  of  Action  are  carried  along  in  the  Dialogue, 
keeping  the  play  filled  with  newness.  For  instance.  Sir 
Giles  dismisses  Marrall's  "feast  and  Lady"  as  imaginary, 
and  bids  Marrall  to  prepare  to  receive  Lord  Lovell  who 
dines  with  him  tomorrow. 

With  the  opening  of  the  third  act,  we  hear  for  the  first 
time  Allworth's  plans.  These  are  absolutely  new.  Of 
course,  the  ground  has  been  laid  for  the  Action,  but  we 
have  merely  heard  before  this  time  that  Allworth  was  in 
love  with  Margaret  Overreach.  Now  we  learn  that  Lord 
Lovell  is  to  seek  out  Margaret  and  play  his  part  for  him. 
Exactly  how  all  this  is  to  be  done,  the  details  of  the  plan, 
we  do  not  learn.  We  can  only  expect  indefinitely.  Per- 
haps the  most  Unexpected  thing  so  far,  although  perfectly 
consistent  with  Sir  Giles's  nature,  is  the  baseness  of  his 
instructions  to  Margaret;  "and  therefore,  when  he  kisses 
you,  kiss  close."  It  is  not  surprising  that  this  fair  creature 
should  resent  her  father's  plans  for  her  and  suggestions  to 


THE  UNEXPECTED  279 

her,  but  Unexpectedness  covers  the  entire  scene.  The  man- 
ner in  which  Sir  Giles  is  taken  in  by  the  diplomacy  of  Lord 
Lovell  is  Unexpected.;  We  have  not  spoken  of  the  Unex- 
pected little  turns  with  which  the  diverting  episodes  are 
filled,  and  in  which  Greedy  entertains  us,  but  it  is  worth 
while  to  call  attention  to  a  little  turn  that  is  absolutely 
Unexpected.  It  is  after  we  have  seen  Greedy's  preparation 
for  the  dinner  and  his  own  ardent  expectation  of  its  de- 
lights, that  Marrall  enters  and  makes  this  announcement : 

"  My  master. 
Knowing  you  are  his  good  friend,  makes  bold  with  you. 
And  does  entreat  you,  more  guests  being  come  in 
Than  he  expected,  especially  his  nephew. 
The  table  being  full  too,  you  would  excuse  him. 
And  wait  to  sup  with  him  on  the  cold  meat." 
This  gastronomic  injustice  to  the  squire  is  a  beautiful  bit 
of  comedy,  and  owes  much  of  its  seasoning  to  the  Unex- 
pectedness of  the  turn.    It  is  not  Unexpected  that  Sir  Giles 
should  offer  to  assist  his  nephew  after  he  has  become  con- 
vinced that  he  is  likely  to  marry  Lady  Allworth.     While 
the  Unexpected  must  exist  in  abundance,  and  so  far  as  it 
goes  is  identical  with  the  Action,  y^t  Action  is  not  wholly 
dependent  upon  it.     This  offer  to  help  his  nephew  is  cer- 
tainly relatively  Unexpected,  it  is  an  Unexpected  result,  at 
all  events.     The  Action,  however,  at  this  point,  depends 
largely    upon    our    wondering    whether  the  deception   of 
Overreach  will  hold  out.     It  is  an  unsettled  matter.     In 
certain  details  of  this  Dialogue  between  nephew  and  Uncle 
which  closes  the  act,  Unexpected  little  points  are  observ- 
able, for  instance.  Sir  Giles  offers  to  redeem  for  Wellborn  "a 
trunk  of  rich  clothes,  not  far  hence  in  pawn."    Is  not  that 
a  little  touch  of  newness  wlorth  the  while?    Is  not  Sir  Giles 
ordering  his  carriage  fqr  his  nephew  a  detail  worth  the 
while?    Is  it  not  n^w? 

With  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  act  we  have  some- 
thing entirely  new  in  the  coming  together  of  Lord 
Lovell  and   Lady  Allworth.     Assuredly,   Lady  Allworth, 


/ 


280  ANALYSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

who  had  denied  herself  to  all  suitors,  the  best  in  the  land, 
had  given  no  thought  to  Lord  Lovell  before  the  opening  of 
the  play.  Only  the  events  that  have  occurred  in  the  three 
preceding  acts  could  make  Lord  Lovell's  suit  even  possi- 
ble. Xo  have  given  any  hint  of  a  possible  marriage  be- 
tween the  two  would  not  have  been  rational.  The  matter 
was  reserved  for  the  fourth  act  and  comes  into  play  rather 
Unexpectedly.  The  Plot  now  begins  to  be  rapidly  devel- 
oped by  Unexpected  happenings;  the  ring  given  to  All- 
worth  by  Sir  Giles  which  enables  him  to  get  the  license, 
and  the  means  whereby  AUworth  is  given  access  to  the 
presence  of  Margaret.  The  second  scene  pf  the  fourth  act 
is  Episodic,  and  the  Unexpectedness  in  it'  consists  largely 
of  details.  Greedy  exercises  his  authority  to  carry  out  the 
just  punishment  of  Tapwell  and  Froth  by  Wellborn.  The 
close  of  the  fourth  act  shows  Sir  Giles  eflfecting  his  own 
undoing  by  unknowingly  providing  for  the  clandestine 
marriage  of  his  daughter  with  Allworth.  It  is  full  of  Un- 
^expected  details. 
-^'■^ht  fifth  act  is  hurried  along  with  Unexpected  turns. 
True,  we  know  much  that  Sir  Giles  does  not  know,  and 
what  has  been  planned  has,  we  hope,  been  carried  out;  but 
although  we  know  much,  we  do  not  know  all;  much  is 
left  in  solution,  much  for  expectation,  which  may  be  dis- 
appointed, for  accident  may  at  any  time  defeat  the  purpose 
of  our  hopes.  This  is  a  real  play.  The  people  are  living 
beings.  The  most  Unexpected  thing  happens  in  the  last 
act,  amounting  to  a  coup  de  theatre.  Marrall  has  had 
no  plan  to  thwart  Sir  Giles  in  his  schemes  against  Well- 
born. He  himself  was  a  party  to  the  fraudulent  deed.  The 
deed  is  in  his  custody.  It  is  natural  enough,  after  he  is 
beaten  again  by  Sir  Giles,  that  he  should  wish  to  square 
accounts  with  him.  We  do  not  expect  him  to  raze  the 
deed,  but  when  the  fact  that  he  has  Unexpectedly  done  so 
is  sprung  upon  us  as  a  coup  de  theatre,  we  recognize  the 
naturalness  of  it.  It  is  Unexpected  that  Sir  Giles  should 
turn  upon  Wellborn  and  demand  security  for  the  money  he 


THE  UNEXPECTED  281 

had  loaned  him  recently  "upon  the  mere  hope  of  his  great 
match,"  but  he  does  this  Unexpectedly,  because  he  has 
heard  rumors.  Unexpectedly,  of  a  stolen  marriage.  He  thinks 
they  are  married.  He  is  ready  to  act.  After  the  discovery 
of  the  razed  document  come  the  Unexpected  appearance 
of  Parson  Willdo  and  moments  of  suspense  until  it  is 
clear  to  Sir  Giles  that  his  daughter  is  married  to  Allworth. 
We  are  intent  upon  seeing  the  effect  of  these  combinations 
of  circumstances  upon  him.  The  Unexpected  happens.  He 
loses  his  mind;  the  Proposition  and  the  Plot  are  solved 
by  the  Action,  and  the  expected,  in  the  sense  of  the  hoped 
for  has  happened.  In  the  happiness  of  the  blameless,  and 
the  discomfiture  of  the  unworthy,  the  play  ends. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


PREPARATION. 

Preparation  is  the  arrangement  of  a  condition  in  an  ear- 
lier part  of  the  Action  which  comes  into  play  in  a  later  part 
of  the  Action  and  becomes  Unexpectedly  effective  by  means 
of  the  Reflex  Action. 

Sogyence  and  Cause  and  EfiFect  involve  Preparation,  a 
principle  which  is  so  important  that  it  must  be  constantly 
in  the  author's  mind.  You  will  find  that  each  scene  re- 
counted under  the  Unexpected  is,  in  its  turn,  a  Preparation 
for  a  succeeding  or  later  scene.  The  one  between  Parthe- 
nia  and  her  mother,  in  the  first  act  showing  that  she  is  in 
love  with  no  one  is  important  with  reference  to  the  later 
Action.  Can  you  not  believe  that  in  writing  it  the  drama- 
tist realized  that  he  was  building,  then  and  there,  a  se- 
cure foundation  for  his  future  Action  and  that  he  had  to 
dwell  upon  the  facts  of  her  freedom  of  heart  and  her  idea 
of  the  purity  of  love,  in  order  to  give  full  value  to  the 
scenes  in  which  her  awakened  love  would  be  operating? 
While  he  could  not  reveal  his  purpose  to  the  audience,  he 
wrote  with  a  full  appreciation  of  the  bearing  of  this  early 
scene  on  certain  succeeding  ones.  The  audience  could  not 
by  any  possibility  anticipate  the  use  that  was  to  be  made 
later  on  of  Parthenia's  state  of  mind  with  reference  to  love. 
It  is  concealed  Preparation.  In  this  case  it  could  not  be 
anything  else  but  concealed  Preparation.  In  some  cases  it 
requires  considerable  art  to  conceal  the  Preparation.  Many 
plays  fail  through  too  much  Preparation.  But  if  there  is 
no  Preparation  at  all  it  is  just  as  bad,  for  something  is 
plumped  in  that  has  to  be  explained — the  cart  being  put 
before  the  horse.  And  this  Preparation  must,  like  the 
Action,  proceed  from  what  happens  on  the  stage,  else  you 
will  be  constantly  introducing  new  matter.  The  inexpert 
author  often  has  several  acts  of  explanation  or  Preparation 


PRE^PARATION  283 

before  he  gets  down  to  the  real  Action.    This  kind  of  Pre- 
paration, without  real  progressive  Action,  no   doubt  pro- 
ceeds from  a  misunderstanding  of  the  old  technical  term  of 
"Introductory"  applied  to  the  first  act.    While  there  should  t 
be  something  new  all  the  time,  it  should  be  something  new  \ 
that  the  Action  calls  for,  something  for  which  there  has, 
been  some  kind  of  Preparation  and  which  is  simply  a  new 
turn  in  the  constant  material.     Preparation  in  its  general 
meaning  is  a  very  significant  word,  and  puts  to  shame  the 
inexpert  and  hasty  writers ;  for,  does  it  not  suggest  care  and 
thought  ?    It  means  that  an  author  considers  each  scene  and 
is  careful  to  weigh  the  effects.    Is  such  and  such  a  scene  or 
incident  or  fact  strong  enough  or  clear  enough  to  have  its 
influence  on  the  later  scenes  and  Action?     Note  all  that 
would  be  called  Preparation  in  the  plays  in  hand.     When 
we  reach   Character  and  creative  work  we  shall  have  so 
much  to  encounter  in  the  way  of  Preparation  that  we  need 
not  dwell   on  the   subject  here  and  now.     No  expressed 
Preparation  is  needed  for  a  given  Action  when  that  Action  • 
explains  itself.    This  is  seen  in  what  is  called  the  "Coup  de  * 
Theatre,"  as  in  some  melo-dramatic  situation  where  the  res-; 
cuing  hero  comes  all  at  once,  when  you  are  not  looking^ 
for  him ;  even  if  we  have  seen  him  in  chains  in  the  previous 
act,  we  jump  to  the  fact  that  he  has  escaped,  and  the  im- 
portant fact  of  the  moment  is  that  he  is  at  hand,  not  how 
he    escaped — but    this    illustration    is    drawn    from    melo- 
drama. 

Preparation  is  something  that  you  very  frequently  dis- 
cern after  you  have  finished  reading  a  play ;  for,  if  Prepara- 
tion is  too  obvious  it  prevents  that  Unexpectedness  which 
we  have  already  seen  to  be  an  essential ;  consequently.  Pre- 
paration is  often  absolutely  concealed,  pains  even  being 
taken  to  direct  the  attention  away  from  any  hint  of  the 
future.  This  may  be  seen  in  the  talk  between  Beauseant 
and  Glavis,  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  where  Beau- 
seant says,  "As  we  have  no  noblemen  left  in 
France, — she      can      only      hope      that      some      English 


284  ANALYSIS    01^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

Milord  or  German  Count,   &c."     Bulwer  carefully  avoids 
suggesting  an  Italian  nobleman.  \  In  a  way,  again,  every- 
thing is  in  the  nature  of  Preparation.     Causes  prepare  for 
(^    effects.     At  the  same  time,  Preparation  is  a  specific  ele- 
ment] otherwise,  it  wlould  not  be  in  a  classification  by  it- 
self.   The  first  notable  and  specific  instance  of  Preparation 
'unseen  by  the  audience  at  the  time,  is  where  Damas  shows 
V'that  he  has  no  sympathy  with  the  social  ambitions  of  his 
,  cousins.    Preparation  of  this  kind  is  often  the  most  import- 
ant object  of  a  scene,  the  immediate  object  being  entirely 
distinct,  rtlie  thinking  of  some  plan  to  humble  Pauline  is 
necessarily  a  Preparation  for  the  scene  in  which  the  oppor- 
tunity is  presented.    The  Preparation  for  the  close  friend- 
ship of  Damas,  so  necessary  in  order  to  take  Melnotte  to 
the  war,  and  for  the  last  act  in  which  Damas,  as  a  cousin, 
takes  him  to  the  house,  is  carefully  worked  out.     Before 
Melnotte   receives   the   note   from   Beauseant,   Preparation 
had  to  be  made  to  have  him  in  a  state  of  mind  to  accede. 
Imagine  Damas,  at  the  close  of  the  Fourth  Act,  without  any 
Preparation,   expressing  his   friendship   for   Melnotte   and 
offering   to   get  him   a   place   in   the   army.     Proper   Pre- 
;  paration  often  requires  a  scene  which  otherwise  would  not 
^  '  be  called  for.     Before  Melnotte  brings  Pauline  to  the  cot- 
.  tage,  it  was  necessary  to  have  ^he  scene  with  the  mother 
;  alone  in  order  to  have  us  know  tnat  she  was  ignorant  of  the 
.  fact  that  Pauline  had  not  been  told  of  the  true  rank  in 
•  society  of  her  son.    She  is  not  in  the  scheme  and  naturally 
addresses  Melnotte  as  her  son,  and  that  precipitates  the 
discovery.     That  Beauseant  falls  upon  the  idea  of  using 
Melnotte,  known  as  the  "Prince,"  is  prepared  for  by  the 
ambition  of  Pauline  to  marry  rank.     The  flowers  that  we 
see  in  the  first  scene  afford  Preparation  also.     They  have 
no  immediate  disclosed  relation  with  Melnotte  whatever. 

Preparation  exists  in  all  parts  of  a  play,  for  it  is  in- 
volved in  the  Construction,  the  Plot,  Sequence,  Cause  and 
Effect  and  other  principles^  We  are  to  point  out  that  which 
is  distinctly  Preparation  in  "Camilla"  and  essay  to  arrive 


PREPARATION  285 

at  the   author's   reason   for   the  exercise  of     this   distinct 
method.    In  writing,  one  often  finds  that  sufficient  Prepara- 
tion has  not  been  made,  and  he  is  forced  perhaps  to  intro- 
duce a  scene  to  effect  the  purpose.    The  first  distinct  scene 
of  Preparation  in  "Camille"  is  the  second  one,  which  in- 
troduces Nichette.     Her  pure  relations  with  Gustave  and 
her  marriage  to  him  are  to  serve  for  a  contrast  to  Camille's 
hapless  life.    This  background  of  happy  virtue  is  most  im- 
portant and  is  to  play  a  considerable  part  in  the  Action. 
Nichette  is  a  working  girl  and  comes  for  a  bundle  left  for 
her  by  Camille.     She  has  formerly  worked  with  Camille, 
and  her  very  name  is  a  pet  one  given  to  her  by  Camille.  The 
essential  Facts  are  conveyed.     The  immediate  purpose  of 
the  scene  is  a  technical  one  to  lead  up  to  the  Dialogue  in 
the  next  scene.    The  story  of  Camille's  life  is  naturally  in- 
troduced, the  facts  serving  as  Preparation.    This  Prepara- 
tion enables  future  passages  to  be  Self-Explanatory.    Later 
on  a  word  or  two  from  Camille  to  Armand  disposes  of  her 
relations  with  de  Meuriac.     In  the  Dialogue  leading  up  to 
Camille's  history  there  is  Preparation,  for  Varville  wonders 
how  Camille  can  endure  de  Meuriac's  tedious  visits;  Nan- 
ine  explains.    Camille's  entrance,  ordering  supper  is  Prepa- 
ration.    It  is  obvious  Preparation,  Requiring  no  dramatic 
finesse.    It  is  a  matter  of  course..]  Camille's  cough,  as  Var- 
ville runs  to  her,  is  distinctly  a  touch  of  Preparation.     Its 
primary  purpose  is  that  alone,  but  Camille's  reply  is  dis- 
tinctly of  the  Action  of  the  moment:    "Nothing,  I  will  be 
better — when  you  are   gone."     It  would  have  been   false 
Preparation  if  the  Characters  before  this  scene  had  show^n 
solicitude  about  her  health ;  this  touch  would  have  been 
impaired.    Nor  is  it  obvious  Preparation.    It  is  the  author's 
Preparation,  a  mere  hint.     There  are  little  bits  of  matter- 
of-course  Preparation,  in  the  nature  of  Sequence,  until  we 
get  to  Armand's  account  of  his  family  and  his  loving  men- 
tion of  his  sister;  the  effect  of  it  upon  Camille  soon  ap- 
pears, and,  in  the  Third  Act,  is  to  determine  her  in  her 
sacrifice.    That  Armand  has  loved  her  madly  in  silence  for 


286  ANAI^YSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

two  years  is  Preparation.  His  silence  during  the  gayety 
of  the  supper  is  Preparation.  The  very  gayety  of  the  sup- 
per is  Preparation  for  Armand's  saying  to  Camille : 
"You  are  killing  yourself.  I  would  that  I  had  the 
right  to  save  you  from  yourself."  It  is  a  note  of  Prepara- 
tion when  Varville  tells  of  having  been  watched  by  "that 
odd-looking  sort  of  person"  as  he  ascended  the  steps ;  and 
further  Preparation  is  made  for  Armand's  return  by  what 
Prudence  says  in  a  scene  or  two  later.  It  would  be  false 
or  bad  Preparation  if  We  were  sure  that  he  would  come 
back,  but  Dumas  had  it  that  Camille  is  about  to  go  out 
with  Varville.  After  some  hesitation  she  dismisses  Var- 
ville, whereupon  Armand  enters.  If  Varville  had  gone 
away  of  his  own  volition,  if  there  had  been  no  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  Armand's  return,  and  he  had  appeared  imme- 
diately upon  Prudence's  announcement,  it  would  have  been 
in  the  nature  of  Story  rather  than  Action.  Besides,  what 
Prudence  says  pictures  to  us  the  state  of  his  mind.  Without 
her  words  his  return  would  have  been  somewhat  absurd. 
This  Preparation  coincides  with  Action.  The  scene  between 
Camille,  Nichette  and  Gustave  is  really  Preparation  for  the 
dashing  of  Camille's  every  hope  in  the  interview  which 
follows  with  Armand's  father.  The  appearance  of  Duval  is 
an  instance  of  where  it  is  not  necessary  to  make  any  Pre- 
paration whatever  except  what  lies  in  the  Self-Explanatory 
nature  of  the  case.  The  slightest  word  of  Preparation 
would  have  destroyed  the  effect.  Instead  of  any  immediate 
Preparation,  the  author,  on  the  contrary,  has  Camille  be- 
lieve it  is  the  agent  who  comes.  With  reference  to  this 
scene  all  that  Camille  has  said  in  her  talks  with  Armand 
was  Preparation,  for  the  father  uses  the  very  arguments 
which  she  herself  has  used  with  her  infatuated  lover  whom 
now  she  loves  with  an  abandonment  that  makes  it  almost 
impossible  to  endure  this  argument.  JThe  Preparation  in 
the  Fourth  Act  is  more  in  the  natiire  of  Cause  and  Effect, 
(the  one  immediately  following  the  other,  Action  proper), 
than  the  Preparation  which  we  call  distinctly  Preparation. 


PREPARATION  287 


vJi 


Special  Preparation  usually  concerns  results  or  effects  not 
immediately  at  hand.]  In  the  Fifth  Act  the  Characters  have 
been  carefully  Prepared,  in  their  scenes,  in  the  previous 
acts,  to  give  effect  to  the  passive  and  pathetic  Action  of 
the  closing  Acts.  Without  this  careful  Preparation  the  Act 
would  be  impossible.  The  Characters  could  not  develop 
their  traits  for  the  first  time.  The  Preparation  for  Arm- 
and's  return  is  contained  in  the  letter  from  Armand's  father 
which  Camille  has  received  six  weeks  before.  Observe  that 
this  information  is  withheld  from  the  audience  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point,  and  that  doubt  is  still  left  in  her  mind  if  he  will 
see  her  again ;  but  a  sufficient  Preparation  is  the  subtle  one 
provided  by  the  author  in  our  belief  that  he  will  return. 
In  making  distinct  principles  of  the  elements  of  a  play, 
we  must  bear  in  mind  always  that  one  principle  involves 
another.  Preparation,  for  example,  is  identical  in  many 
points  and  aspects  with  Sequence  and  Cause  and  EflEegt/ 
And  yet  what  would  be  the  use  in  defining  a  principle  if 
it  were  only  another  name  for  another  principle?  Would 
it  not  be  a  multiplication  of  means  to  an  end  if  each  Princi- 
ple were  not  delimited  and  did  not  have  functions  peculiarly 
its  own?  Sequence  and  Cause  and  Effect  could  be  observed 
if  in  the  very  first  scene  in  "Still  Waters  Run 
Deep"  we  saw  that  Mrs.  Mildmay  had  fallen  under 
the  influence  of  Hawksley  by  reason  of  her  roman- 
ticism and  the  prosaic  character  of  her  husband.  But 
the  dramatist  has  wisely  not  even  permitted  us  to  see  the 
romanticism  of  Mrs.  Mildmay  in  this  scene,  so  far  as  any 
expression  to  him  is  concerned.  He  does  not  show  that 
the  woman  considers  him  prosaic,  without  a  soul  for  music, 
in  fact,  "no  soul  for  anything!"  There  we  have  it,  prose 
first,  romance  next.  We  are  thus  prepared  for  the  second 
scene  in  which  we  see  that  the  wife  reads  Tennyson,  "ri- 
diculous poetry,"  for  "the  comfort  it  brings  to  her  with- 
ered heart.'^That  is  true  Preparation,  husbanding  effects 
and  ideas,  f  An  instance  of  Preparation  which  has  no  imme- 
diate relation  to  the  Plot,  is  that  Mrs.  Sternhold  has  issued 


288  ANAIvYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.E 

invitations  to  dinner  tomorrow.  The  fact  is  given  as  a  rea- 
son v^hy  Emily  cannot  have  the  quiet  little  dinner  with 
her  husband  at  Richmond  on  the  anniversary  of  the  wed- 
ding. If  the  dinner  of  the  third  act  were  plumped  in  when 
occasion  arose  for  it  later  on  it  would  be  very  lame  and 
obviously  mechanical.  This  is  Preparation  which  has  noth- 
ing whatever  to  do  with  the  immediate  Cause  and  Effect  as 
to  the  Plot.  But  observe  that  it  does  serve  an  immediate 
purpose./  It  is  shown  in  the  first  scene  that  Mrs.  Sternhold 
is  in  authority  in  the  house.  The  value  of  incidental  Prepa- 
ration, but  specific  as  Preparation,  is  to  be  noted  in  the 
talk  between  Potter  and  Mrs.  Sternhold,  in  which  Potter 
expresses  his  doubts  as  to  the  attentions  of  Hawksley  to 
Emily.  The  immediate  object  of  the  scene  is  to  arouse 
the  jealousy  of  the  aunt  and  have  her  overhear  the  inter- 
view between  Hawksley  and  Emily. 
t^  What  Potter  says  as  to  the  acquaintance  of  the 
'  two  before  the  marriage  of  Emily  with  Mildmay 
has  a  softening  effect  on  the  scene  in  which  Hawks- 
ley makes  his  impudent  proposal.  If  we  did  not 
know  that  they  were  old  acquaintances,  that  he 
sought  to  marry  her  at  one  time,  the  scene  would  be  so 
abrupt  and  vulgar  that  it  would  be  intolerable.  Emily  is 
romantic,  so  w«  are  prepared  for  Hawksley's  mode  of  at- 
tack "Oh,  were  this  but  Seville !  Sweet  Seville  V  The  very 
moment  Hawksley  makes  his  base  proposal  we  know  that 
he  is  a  scoundrel ;  that  is  preparation  enough  for  the  facts 
that  he  has  removed  the  bolt  of  the  glass  door  and  that  he 
has  stolen  the  key  to  the  garden  gate.  It  falls  into  the  self- 
explanatory.  No  preparation  was  needed  for  the  fact 
that  the  mastiff  was  a  present  from  Hawksley.  There  had 
been  no  need  to  make  the  fact  known  before  this  point  that 
Mrs.  Sternhold  had  lost  the  key.  Why  not?  Because  the 
important  fact  is  that  Hawksley  has  it,  and  the  loss  by  Mrs. 
Sternhold  is  a  mere  detail.  It  is  a  fact  of  the  moment,  a 
thing  of  the  Action,  not  continuous  in  bearing,  requiring 
no  treatment  before  or  after  the  fact.     The  law  takes  no 


PREPARATION  289 

account  of  fractions  of  a  day;  the  drama  does  not  halt  at 
material  immaterial  things,  fractions.  It  is  important  to 
understand  Preparation  as  a  distinct  principle,  with  func- 
tions of  its  own,  else  it  may  be  confounded  with  the  func- 
tions of  Cause  and  Effect.  The  Preparation  involved  in 
the  Action  or  the  Plot  is  of  a  tangible  sort ;  from  this  comes 
that,  by  reason  of  this  that  happens,  &c.  But  Preparation, 
in  its  distinct  function,  is  usually  intangible,  concealed 
Preparation.  The  inexperienced  writer  might  easily  have 
destroyed  the  Unexpected  in  the  scene  between  Hawksley 
and  Mrs.  Sternhold  by  bringing  out  the  fact  of  the  exist- 
ence of  the  thirteen  compromising  letters  too  soon,  "pre- 
paring" for  them.  Her  jealousy,  her  reproaches,  their  inti- 
macy, his  rascality,  her  folly,  her  sentimentality,  «:hat  of  a 
woman  of  a  certain  age  who  loves  in  spite  of  her  judgment, 
all  suffice  to  make  us  accept  the  fact  without  any  formal 
Preparation.  If  we  knew  nothing  about  these  compromis- 
ing letters  until  Mildmay  confronted  Hawksley  in  his  room, 
the  fact  would  be  plumped  in;  we  would  feel  the  lack  of 
Preparation.  As  it  is,  it  is  a  part  of  our  interest  whether 
he  will  secure  the  letters  or  not.  We  know  that  to  secure 
them  is  one  of  the  objects  of  his  visit.  The  story  of  the 
forged  bill  is  without  Preparation  as  to  the  facts,  but  we 
have  become  so  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  rascality  of 
Hawksley  that  we  are  prepared  to  believe  anything  about 
him,  and  we  know  that  Mildmay  has  been  pursuing  inves- 
tigations. pThe  method  of  arriving  at  this  scene  is  unusuaL 
It  is  seldom  that  Story  can  be  used  so  effectively.  It  is 
made  possible  in  being  reduced  down  to  one  material  fact, 
the  forged  bill  and  Mildmay's  possession  of  it.  The  details 
did  not  have  to  be  proved.  Nothing  in  the  Plot  or  the  Ac- 
tion turns  upon  the  proof  of  the  details.  We  are  prepared 
for  any  charge  against  Hawksley,  and  we  know  that  Mild- 
may has  definite  proof  of  some  sort.  There  is  no  Prepara- 
tion for  the  statement  that  Hawksley  can  snuff  a  candle 
at  twenty  paces  with  a  pistol,  but  the  accomplishment  pro- 
19 


/ 

290  ANAI^YSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

bably  belonged  to  the  character  of  the  period  of  this  play. 
If  Hawksley*s  deadly  aim  were  the  material  thing  at  this 
point  Preparation  would  have  been  required.  Perhaps  Pre- 
paration in  detail  was  inexpedient  in  parts  of  the  structure 
of  this  play,  consequently  there  is  much  use  made  of  Story ; 
whereas  proper  Preparation  is  the  most  potent  means  of 
obviating  Story. 

If  we  attempted  to  give  all  the  Sequences  and  every  bit 
of  Cause  and  Effect  as  Preparation  we  would  get  a  con- 
fused idea  of  the  principle.  Preparation  is  involved  in  and 
provided  for  in  many  of  the  elements  of  a  play,  but  those 
elements  do  not  always  coincide.  In  "A  New  Way 
to  Pay  Old  Debts,'^  Wellborn  is  turned  away  and 
humiliated  by  Tapwell  and  Froth  in  the  first  scene, 
and  in  the  second  scene  of  the  fourth  act,  an  Episode,  he 
metes  out  punishment  to  them,  but  this  Episode  is  too  in- 
cidental as  to  Tapwell  and  Froth  to  require  the  first  scene 
to  have  for  its  principal  object  Preparation  for  the  scene 
of  punishment.  The  Episode  has  something  more  import- 
ant to  attend  to  than  the  punishment  of  the  Innkeeper  and 
while  it  makes  Objective  the  fact  that  Overreach  has  sup- 
plied Wellborn  with  money  the  Episode  serves  distinctly 
for  Plot.  We  could  hardly  define  Sir  Giles's  furnishing 
Wellborn  with  money  to  discharge  his  debts  as  Preparation 
for  the  Episode  either.  So  many  things  contribute  to  it 
and  are  ready  for  it  when  it  can  be  introduced  that  no  spe- 
cific Preparation  was  needed.  Both  Marrall  and  Justice 
Greedy  have  been  won  over  by  Wellborn,  and  incidentally 
this  fact,  with  many  other  circumstances,  works  for  the 
Episode,  but  the  Episode  is  a  by-product.  We  are  en- 
tirely prepared  for  Greedy's  ready  acquiescence  in  Well- 
born's  suggestion  to  forget  the  "couple  of  fat  turkeys"  pro- 
mised every  Christmas  by  Tapwell  in  favor  of  the  venison 
that  he  will  send  him  every  season,  enough  to  feast  a  mayor 
and  corporation.  But  it  is  all  too  indirect  and  incidental 
to  be  called  specific  Preparation.  The  character  of  Greedy 
has  been  developed  for  other  purposes  and  not  for  this 


PREPARATION  291 

scene.  The  necessity  for  specific  Preparation  often  pre- 
sents itself  to  a  dramatist  after  he  has  practically  or  appa- 
rently completed  his  Plot  or  play.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
find  an  easier  or  more  natural  Episode  than  this!  In  the 
Dialogue  between  Tapwell  and  Froth  note  that  she  says 
that  Wellborn  *'knows  all  the  passages  of  our  house ;  as  the 
receiving  of  stolen  goods,  and  so  forth."  This  is  the  first 
we  have  heard  of  it.  If  it  had  been  made  known  in  the 
opening  scene  of  the  play  as  a  bit  of  Preparation  for  the 
Episode,  it  would  have  thrown  everything  into  dispropor- 
tion. Here  it  is  in  the  right  place  and  acts  as  Preparation, 
in  a  certain  degree,  for  it  makes  Wellborn's  treatment  of 
them  justice  and  not  revenge.  Massinger,  in  his  first  draft, 
might  have  begun  the  Episode  without  this  introduction, 
having  the  characters  on  the  stage,  as  now,  Tapwell  pre- 
senting his  petition.  Suppose  Massinger  had  incorporated 
the  idea  of  Tapwell's  being  a  fence  in  the  Episode  proper, 
and  have  had  Wellborn  say  that  he  knew  "all  the  passages 
of  the  house,  as  the  receiving  of  stolen  goods,  and  so  forth," 
then  it  would  have  been  plumped  in  and  would  otherwise 
have  taken  away  from  the  simplicity  of  the  scene.  The 
Facts  are  immediately  Self-explanatory  and  doubly  forceful 
although  mentioned  now  for  the  first  time.  Certain  things 
are  spoken  of  as  having  happened  which  need  not  have 
been  by  way  of  Preparation.  For  instance,  Tapwell  says 
that  Wellborn  has  Greedy  at  his  command  because  he  has 
fed  him.  We  needed  no  previous  account  of  the  various 
creditors  in  order  to  understand  the  details  which  are  un- 
folded. To  have  given  it  would  have  been  over-prepara- 
tion. The  treatment  of  Wellborn  by  the  servants  and  the 
maids  was  a  necessary  Preparation,  by  way  of  contrast,  for 
the  scene  in  which  their  demeanor  is  the  exact  opposite. 
Massinger  had  the  latter  scenes  in  mind  when  he  wrote 
the  first  ones.  There  is  a  very  careful  Preparation  for  solv- 
ing the  relations  betw:een  Lord  Lovell  and  Lady  Allworth. 
Long  before  the  two  have  occasion  to  come  to  an  under- 


292  ANALYSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

standing,  we  see  that  explanations  between  them  will  be 
brief.  This  Preparation  begins  before  there  is  any  issge 
joined  as  to  them.  It  enters  into  the  Plot  later  on.  \The 
Preparation  for  Marrall's  betrayal  and  desertion  of  Sir 
Giles  is  Plot  Preparation  largely.  In  working  out  the 
scenes  of  wrath  and  beating,  Massinger  had  constantly  in 
mind  that  he  was  making  the  Cause  strong  enough  to  cor- 
respond with  the  EflFect.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  Prepara- 
tion in  this  play  by  previous  description  and  giving  of 
Facts,  something  that  often  leads  to  over-preparation,  but 
Massinger  is  so  skillful  that  he  gives  the  facts  and  descrip- 
tions necessarily  and  incidentally.  Thus,  Wellborn  de- 
scribes Overreach's  designs  for  his  daughter  in  the  first 
scene  with  Allworth.  But  its  force,  at  that  moment,  is  to 
complete  the  relentless  character  of  the  man  who  has 
wrought  the  ruin  of  Wellborn.  There  is  no  hint  of  Plot  in 
it.  Had  we,  later  on,  suddenly  got  our  first  intimation  or 
statement  or  showing  of  this  side  of  the  character  of  Sir 
Giles  it  would  have  been  plumped  in.  Or  if  it  had  been 
revealed  to  us  in  the  first  scene  of  the  play  that  Sir  Giles 
intended  to  offer  the  hand  of  his  daughter  to  Lord  Lovell  it 
would  have  been  over-preparation  and  the  affairs  of  All- 
worth  wbuld  have  had  undue  prominence.  To  have  inti- 
mated that  Marrall  was  already  tired  of  the  ill-treatment 
of  his  master  was  wholly  unnecessary.  Consequently,  Mas- 
singer first  showed  him  as  the  willing  and  eager  tool,  per- 
mitting us  to  see  the  character  and  its  relations  to  the  Ac- 
tion develop  under  our  own  eyes.  When  we  hear  the  com- 
plainings of  the  cook  we  understand  the  circumstances. 
The  opening  scene  of  the  servants  was  evidently  designed, 
for  the  greater  part,  as  Preparation  for  "The  thin  gutted 
squire  that's  stolen  into  commission."  Omit  the  cook  from 
the  scene  and  there  would  be  no  scene.  Some  students,  in 
analyzing  this  play,  iancy  that  they  see  traces  of  insanity  in 
Sir  Giles  in  the  course  of  the  Action  which  makes  the  Pre- 
paration for  his  final  madness.    His  uncontrollable  temper 


PREPARATION  293 

may  be  a  kind  of  insanity,  but  the  defeat  of  all  his  hopes, 
might  well  have  brought  on  an  access  of  madness  without 
any  previous  lesion  of  the  brain  or  imperfection  of  reason. 
It  is  not  likely  that  Massinger  intended  to  represent  him 
with  the  seeds  of  madness  in  him  in  any  other  sense  than 
that  abnormal  passion  implies  madness. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


ACTION  (DRAMA)  MUST  BE  SELF-EXPLANATORY, 
SELF-DEVELOPING  AND  SELF-PROGRESSIVE. 

The  principles  and  methods  already  explained  and  which 
have  concerned  the  actual  structure  of  a  play  provide  large- 
ly for  the  qualities  of  the  Self-explanatory,  the  Self-develop- 
ing and  the  Self-progressive.  One  principle  involves  an- 
other principle,  sometimes  very  closely,  but  an  art  must  be 
precise  and  must  make  distinctions  in  order  to  secure  a  safe 
point  of  view  in  every  emergency.  The  very  term  Self-Ex- 
planatory explains  itself,  but  if  we  are  to  exercise  a  self- 
reliant  Technique  we  must  know  why  a  Self-Explanatory 
dramatic  thing  is  Self-Explanatory.  It  is  jnade  so  and  does 
not  merely  happen  so.  If  we  at  once  understand  why  a 
character  does  a  certain  thing,  it  is  because  we  understand 
the  present  conditions  and  what  has  led  up  to  them.  'That 
a  thing  is  Self-Explanatory  is  one  of  the  first  qualities  of 
Action,  almost  a  definition.  If  we  have  seen  in  a  preceding 
scene  that  one  character  has  insulted,  let  us  say,  the  sister 
of  another,  we  understand  his  state  of  mind  when  he  meets 
that  other.  If  we  see  a  cause  we  understand  the  effect. 
Should  a  blow  be  struck  it  is  at  once  Self-Explanatory,  Self- 
developing  and  Self-progressive.  One  thing  grows  out  of 
another  or  makes  it  clear.  "Ingomar"  has  this  Sequence  of 
happenings  in  perfect  clarity.  Are  we  not  assured  of  the 
ideality  and  purity  of  Parthenia  from  her  talk  with  her 
mother?  Has  she  to  protest  or  explain  her  innocence  when 
confronted  with  the  passion  of  Ingomar  and  is  in  his 
power?  We  have  usually  seen  in  the  Action  of  a  play  what 
explains  the  conduct  of  a  character,  and  it  does  not  make  it 
less  Self-explanatory  when,  for  example.  Uncle  Nat,  in  the 
lighthouse  scene,  in  "Shore  Acres,"  tells  Martin,  his  broth- 
er, for  the  first  time  that  he  loved  Martin's  wife  before  Mar- 
tin married  her.    How  can  a  play  be  Self-developing  unless 


ACTION    MUST    BD    SELF-EXPLANATORY,    ETC.  295 

we  see  it  develop  before  our  eyes?  Cause  and  Effect  and 
motives  constantly  accumulating  as  the  Action  progresses, 
are  the  marks  of  the  dramatic.  You  will  observe  that,  in 
a  correctly  written  play,  there  is  no  occasion  to  explain 
after  something  has  happened,  provided  the  Action  had 
been  sufficiently  Self-explanatory  for  the  moment.  One 
does  not  have  to  give  every  Detail  in  order  to  make  a  thing 
sufficiently  Self-explanatory.  The  dramatist  must  know 
what  to  withhold.  What  may  seem  to  be  explanations  are 
made  in  the  course  of  the  Action,  but,  by  reason  of  the  ex- 
planation, the  Action  becomes  Self-progressive.  Action  is 
itself  Self-progressive,  for  it  is  a  part  of  a  complete  Action. 
It  is  like  the  expansion  of  a  drop  of  water  into  steam  that 
creates  the  motive  power. 

It  is  Self-explanatory  why  Parthenia  rejects  Poly- 
dor  after  the  discussion  between  them,  because  of 
his  avarice,  meanness,  and  wholly  unsympathetic  na- 
ture, which  develop  as  they  talk,  and  it  is  Self- 
progressive  because  it  brings  about  a  constant  change  of 
affairs:  She  started  to  accept  him,  and  rejects  him.  It  is 
Self-explanatory  when  he  refuses,  later  on,  to  help  to  ran- 
som her  father,  for  he  has  expressed  his  wish  for  revenge, 
and  his  opportunity  has  come.  It  is  Self-developing,  Self- 
explanatory  and  Self-progressive.  The  obverse  side  of  this 
you  will  see  in  your  own  first  plays,  when  you  will  have  to 
ask  yourself :  Is  this  Self-explanatory,  Self-developing  and 
Self-progressive,  Whenever  you  make  the  characters  talk 
for  the  information  of  the  audience  and  not  because  of  the 
necessity  of  so  talking  between  themselves,  it  is  you,  the 
author,  who  is  explaining  or  feeling  or  talking,  and  con- 
sequently the  Action  is  not  Self-developing.  Any  one  who 
succeeds  with  an  anecdote,  knowing  the  art  of  telling  one, 
will  have  the  point,  at  the  climax,  Self-explanatory.  As 
simple  as  all  this  seems,  from  our  study  and  analysis  of  well 
constructed  plays,  you  will  find  that  it  is  one  of  the  most 
frequent  problems  to  solve  when  writing  a  play,  f 

In  a  play  from  a  novel  by  a  well  known  Arfierican  au- 


296  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

thor  produced  several  years  ago,  at  the  rise  of  the  curtain  a 
young  man  from  R.  and  a  young  woman  from  L.  rushed 
into  each  other's  arms  and  embraced  rapturously;  it  was 
not  Self-explanatory;  were  they  brother  and  sister?  Lov- 
ers ?  The  audience  did  not  know  the  relationship  and  broke 
into  a  roar  of  laughter;  like  Ananias  the  author  had  kept 
back  too  much. 

You  can  see  that  everything  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  is 
Self-explanatory  and  Self-developing.  If  it  were  not 
the  play  would  not  be  walking  on  its  own  legs.  It 
would  not  be  alive.  If  a  thing  were  done  in  the  wrong 
place,  in  the  wrong  Sequence,  it  would  not  be  Self-explan- 
atory; if  you  saw  an  Eflfect  without  having  seen  the  Cause, 
it  would  not  be  Self-explanatory,  although  it  might  be  all 
right  in  another  form  of  literature,  the  novel,  for_example. 
The  author  could  explain  as  he  went  along.  The  drama 
is  the  thing  itself,  it  must  explain  itself,  the  author  has  no 
part  in  it  so  far  as  the  actual  performance  is  concernecl. 
The  play  begins  to  be  Self-explanatory  with  the  first  step 
you  take  in  the  structure.  The  Proposition  and  the  Plot 
are  Self-explanatory.  How  unintelligible  at  times  or  how 
dreadful  a  bore  a  play  would  be  if  the  characters  had  to  stop 
and  explain  things.  When  Damas  takes  a  fancy  to  Melnotte 
after  fighting  the  duel  with  him,  we  understand  why,  not 
only  from  what  he  says  as  to  liking  a  man  after  fighting 
with  him,  but  because  we  know  his  bluff  character  and 
democracy.  When  the  time  comes  it  is  entirely  clear  why 
Damas  offers  to  have  Melnotte  serve  in  his  regiment.  That 
Melnotte  can  rise  to  rank  in  the  army  is  Self-explanatory 
from  the  career  of  Damas  himself.  It  does  not  depend 
upon  any  explanation  from  him.  Melnotte  explains  his  mo- 
tives to  Pauline  more  than  once,  but  not  for  the  mere  pur- 
pose of  explaining,  only  for  new  results  and  purposes.  The 
very  reason  for  the  explanation  is  Self-explanatory.  Beause- 
ant  does  not  have  to  explain  to  the  audience  why  he  comes 
to  see  Pauline  at  the  cottage.  We  know  that  he  had  not 
given  up  hope,  and  that  it  was  indeed  a  part  of  his  plan 


ACTION    MUST    BE)    SELF-EXPLANATORY,    ETC.  297 

to  humble  her  and  to  gain  her.  His  discussion  of  the  situa- 
tion with  her  is  not  for  the  sake  of  explanation.  If  it  had 
required  a  monologue  from  him  to  tell  the  audience  why- 
he  had  come,  there  would  have  been  something  wrong  in 
the  arrangement  of  the  piece,  his  monologue  would 
have  been  explanation  and  the  Self-explanatory  would 
have  been  lacking.  If  Damas,  in  the  opening  of  the  last 
act,  had  advanced  to  the  footlights  and  explained  in  a  mo- 
nologue that  he  and  Melnotte  were  back  from  the  wars, 
Melnotte  now  known  as  Morier,  &c.,  &c.,  it  would  not  have 
been  Self-explanatory,  because  nothing  in  the  Action  forces 
him  to  a  monologue.  Why  does  not  Melnotte  reveal  him- 
self at  once?  It  is  Self-explanatory.  It  is  all  cared  for  by 
structure  and  the  other  principles.  One  thing  being  wrong 
in  a  play,  other  things  will  be  wrong,  but  here  we  have 
skilled  work.  \ 

"^    The  Self-explanatory  comes  from  technical  management. 
The  inexperienced  writer  yielding  to  Story,  Words,  bad 
Sequence  and  lack  of  Preparation,  will  too  often  fail  to 
make  what  takes  place  explain  itself.     It  is  Self-explana- 
tory that  Varville  is  waiting  for  Camille.    That  is  all  that\ 
the  immediate  situation    requires.     The    inexpert    writer  j 
would  be  inclined  to   explain   the  whole.    That   it   is   not  ' 
Camille  who   rings   the  bell   is   Self-explanatory  by  what  i 
Nanine  says  as  to  the  time  of  her  return,  and  it  is  Self- 
explanatory  why  they  are  not  interrupted  by  the  Entrance 
of  Camille  during  the  two  scenes  preceding  her  return.    It 
is  Self-explanatory  why  Nichette  calls ;  a  bundle  is  left  fbr  ^  , 
her.     It  is  Self-explanatory  why  she  does  not  wait  for  Ca- 
mille, for  Gustave  is  at  the  door.     It  is  Self-Explanatory  i 
why  she  is  fond  of  Camille,  and  why  Camille  is  fond  of  her ; 
they  had  worked  together  in  the  same  shop.     Camille's  pet 
name  of  Nichette  indicates  the  degree  of  intimacy.     All 
these  points  are  brought  out 'by  the  necessity  of  the  occa- 
sion, and  nothing  is  told  directly  or  without  Cause.     In 
other  words,  it  all  tells  itself,  and  in  that  case  it  is  Self- 
explanatory.     That   Camille   is   indifferent   to   Varville   is 


298  ANAIvYSIS    01^   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPIvD 

Self-explanatory  in  her  conduct  toward  him  and  in  her 
conversation  with  him.  It  is  true  that  Nanine  has  told 
Varville  that  Camille  does  not  love  him  the  least  bit  in 
the  world,  but  that  does  not  render  it  the  less  necessary 
for  Camille  to  show  the  fact  by  her  conduct  toward  him. 
It  is  her  conduct  that  is  Self-explanatory.  We  see  that 
Olimpe  has  not  been  to  see  Camille  recently.  That  is 
brought  out  in  the  conversation  between  them.  When  Ca- 
mille goes  to  the  window  and  calls  for  Prudence  it  is  Self- 
explanatory  that  she  is  a  neighbor.  It  is  not  superfluous  that 
Camille  in  answer  to  Olimpe  explains  that  Prudence  lives 
just  opposite.  It  is  all  Self-explanatory  because  every- 
thing that  is  said  and  done  is  in  demand  by  the  immediate 
pressure  of  the  moment  and  thus  Self-Acting.  If  Nanine, 
in  that  possible  scene  at  the  beginning  of  the  play  had  told 
all  about  Prudence  being  a  neighbor,  then  this  incidental 
going  to  the  window  and  of  explaining  to  Olimpe  would 
have  been  robbed  of  the  better  part  of  the  quality  of  the 
Self-explanatory.  There  would  have  been  repetition  and 
an  absence  of  the  Unexpected.  In  other  words,  it  would 
have  been  too  Self-explanatory.  It  is  Self-explanatory 
that  Camille  lightly  passes  off  Prudence's  remark  that 
Armand  loves  her  to  madness.  She  does  not  take  it  se- 
riously, and  we  know  why.  We  have  seen  that  she  does 
not  love  Varville,  and  we  know  from  her  history  that 
she  cares  for  no  one.  She  attaches  no  importance  to  the 
sincerity  of  anybody's  love.  When  Camille  orders  Varville 
to  cease  that  noise  on  the  piano,  it  is  Self-explanatory,  for 
we  have  seen  her  impatience  with  him  in  previous  scenes. 
If  Armand  had  joined  in  the  revelry  and  had  taken  part 
in  the  frivolous  talk  at  the  table,  his  interest  in  Camille 
in  the  interview  after  the  others  had  gone  out  would  not 
be  Self-explanatory.  It  is  the  Preparation  for  it  that  makes 
it  so.  Without  the  frivolous  character  of  her  companions 
having  been  seen,  it  would  not  be  Self-explanatory  when 
Camille  says  that  "There  is  a  new  found  meaning  in  these 
simple  words"  of  Armand.     Camille's  agitation  in  the  sec- 


ACTION    MUST    B^    SELF-EXPI,ANATORY^    ETC.  299 

ond  act,  and  her  conflict  of  emotion  with  reference  to  Arm- 
and  have  their  basis  in  the  previous  act,  and  what  she 
now  does  explains  itself.  The  strongest  example  of  the 
Self-explanatory  is  the  Entrance  of  Duval.  Here  is  a  case 
in  which  there  has  been  no  obvious  Preparation  at  all. 
Camille  does  not  expect  him,  and  is  ignorant  of  his  coming, 
and  yet  the  very  moment  he  enters  the  audience  knows 
why  he  comes.  There  is  not  a  word  of  immediate  expla- 
nation from  him.  The  argument  between  them  is  based 
on  Facts  and  emotions  which  have  been  presented  in  pre- 
vious scenes.  The  new  fact  is  introduced  that  Armand's 
sister  is  about  to  marry,  and  that  the  family  of  the  man 
who  seeks  her  will  not  consent  to  the  marriage  unless 
Camille  gives  up  Armand.  The  very  statement  of  these 
facts  is  Self-explanatory.  We  need  no  details  about  the 
family  of  the  young  man  who  will  marry  Armand's  sister 
under  conditions.  The  facts  are  ample  and  absolutely  defi- 
nite and  Self-explanatory.  There  was  absolutely  no  Pre- 
paration needed  for  the  announcement  of  the  intended  mar- 
riage any  more  than  there  was  for  the  coming  of  Armand's 
father.  There  is  marked  dramatic  economy  in  all  this. 
After  the  interview  to  the  close  of  the  act,  everything  that 
is  done  explains  itself.  There  is  no  Story  to  be  told  in  the 
fourth  act,  and  the  Action  being  Self-developing  and  Self- 
progressive,  jt  is  by  the  nature  of  the  Action  itself.  Self- 
explanatory.  Whenever  each  moment  provides  the  reason 
for  each  Action,  then  we  have  the  principle  in  its  purest 
elemental  form.  When  Camille  falteringly  says  that  she 
loves  Varville  it  is  Self-explanatory,  for  there  is  no  ex- 
pression from  her  of  the  reason  why  she  tells  this  false- 
hood; we  know  why.  The  very  utterance  of  her  renuncia- 
tion of  Armand  has  back  of  it  the  reason  known  to  us  and 
not  to  Armand.  It  would  be  inconceivable  perhaps  to  im- 
agine this  interview  between  Armand  and  Camille  taking 
place  without  the  interview  between  Camille  and  Armand's 
father  having  been  seen.  But,  for  the  sake  of  illustration, 
you  will  imagine  a  scene  in  which  Camille  should  explain 


300    .  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

to  Armand  why  she  renounces  him,  the  scene  between  her 
and  the  father  having  taken  place  off  stage.  This  will  seem 
almost  impossible,  but  instances  of  the  kind  could  be  found 
in  inexpert  plays.  If  much  of  the  last  act  w^re  not  Self- 
explanatory  it  would  be  slow  in  movement  and  unintelli- 
gible. But  it  is  Self-explanatory  from  the  rise  of  the  cur- 
tain. We  know  at  once  that  she  is  without  resources,  and 
has  been  abandoned  by  Varville  and  just  as  certainly  by 
Armand.  The  devotion  of  the  two  friends  that  remain  to 
her  after  her  wealth  is  gone  is  Self-explanatory.  Arm- 
and's  return  is  Self-explanatory  because  it  is  prepared  for 
by  the  letter  which  Camille  reads  from  the  father.  It 
would  not  be  Self-explanatory  if  Armand  on  his  return 
explained  these  things  which  we  now  know  but  which 
an  unskilled  dramatist  might  have  left  to  him.  It  would 
have  been  the  very  same  Story,  the  facts  would  have  re- 
mained the  same.  Why  then  could  not  Dumas  have  re- 
served to  Armand  the  telling  of  that?  Simply  because  in 
the  tense  moments  of  the  Action  there  is  no  time  for  ex- 
planation. It  must  be  got  out  of  the  way.  Armand  does 
not  waste  one  word  in  telling  her  of  his  misunderstanding 
or  about  his  father's  letter  to  him.  If  a  play  were  a  condi- 
tion of  affairs  and  not  an  Action  wherein  the  most  vital 
thing  is  the  present  moment,  Armand  could  dwell  upon 
the  many  unhappy  combinations  of  circumstances  which 
have  thrown  them  apart,  and  which  have  now  brought 
them  together.  Indeed,  if  an  aiithor,  (he  could  hardly  be 
called  a  dramatist)  wanted  to  dwell  on  sentiment  and  de- 
tail and  explanation,  he  could  easily  do  so  in  this  scene,  but 
to  its  utter  destruction  as  to  the  vital  thing  of  the  moment. 
The  very  term  Self-explanatory  implies  that  the  Action 
as  it  develops  before  us  is  intelligible  to  the  extent  required 
at  the  moment.  Every  fact  and  all  the  relations  of  the  peo- 
ple cannot  be  conveyed  at  one  and  the  same  moment,  con- 
sequently, the  Self-explanatory  is  provided  for  and  pre- 
pared for  in  many  different  ways.  Thus,  before  we  come 
to  the  scene  itself  we  have  developed  the  Proposition  into  a 


ACTION    MUST    BE)    SElvI'-EXPI.ANATORY,    trC.  3OI 

Plot,  and  the  Plot  into  Acts  and  scenes ;  and  if  this  is  prop- 
erly done,  much  becomes  Self-explanatory,  while  much  is 
left  to  the  details  of  the  scenes  to  make  what  happens  and 
is  said  in  them  Self-explanatory  at  the  moment.  A  scene 
becomes  a  microcosm  of  a  play ;  Sequence,  Proposition  and 
Plot  within  the  scene  repeat  the  same  process  used  in  get- 
the  means  of  producing  the  Self-explanatory,  the  most  pri- 
the  means  of  producing  the  Self- Explanatory,  tihe  most  pri- 
mitive are  those  of  Scenery  and  Costume  and  Objectivity. 
When  the  curtain  rises  on  the  drawing  room  of  Mildmay's 
villa,  we  see  that  the  group  of  four  people  indicate  a 
family.  We  see  their  social  position.  Certain  general  facts 
are  conveyed  in  a  Self-explanatory  way.  It  is  a  kind  of 
Action  that  is  thus  afforded  by  the  inanimate  things  and 
the  tableau,  for  the  mind  of  the  audience  begins  to  operate. 
The  picture  itself  does  not  suggest  the  exact  relations  be- 
tween the  people.  It  would  be  impossible  almost  to  con- 
vey all  these  facts  except  by  way  of  development.  We  are 
attendant  upon  the  Action  in  order  to  discover  exactly  what 
are  the  relations  of  these  people.  It  has  been  sufficiently 
Self-explanatory  up  to  the  time  that  Mrs.  Mildmay  ad- 
dresses her  aunt  as  "Aunt,"  "only  conceive  of  him  asking 
for  a  stupid  melody  like  that."  We  next  get  the  relation 
between  Mildmay  and  Emily,  for  he  says,  "you  used  to 
like  playing  to  me  before  we  were  married."  It  is  a  minute 
or  two,  or  a  considerable  space,  after  this  before  we  learn 
that  Mrs.  Sternhold  is  Potter's  sister.  It  was  not  abso- 
lutely essential  up  to  this  point  to  define  Potter,  for  atten- 
tion had  to  be  centered  on  the  attitude  of  Mildmay's  wife 
and  her  Aunt  toward  Mildmay,  and  these  relations  all  come 
out  in  a  Self-explanatory  way.  These  characters  are  en- 
gaged in  a  conversation  about  affairs  of  their  own,  and  are 
in  no  wise  concerned  with  the  audience.  All  that  they  say 
is  perfectly  natural  and  required  by  their  discussion.?  Mrs. 
Sternhold's  first  speech  shows  that  Mildmay  gives  little 
attention  to  the  music  of  his  wife,  and  has  the  habit  of 
silently  snoring  through  it.    We  see  at  once  that  husband 


302  ANALYSIS   OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

and  wife  are  at  odds ;  that  even  Potter,  the  fourth  member 
of  the  household,  thinks  that  Mildmay  has  no  soul  for  any- 
thing. Mrs.  Sternhold  replies  to  Mildmay's  suggestion  to 
Emily  that  they  have  a  quiet  little  dinner  at  Richmond  to- 
morrow, that  she  cannot  allow  Emily  to  go,  and  that  she 
has  issued  invitations  for  a  dinner  here.  It  is  Self-ex- 
planatory that  she  has  the  upper  hand  in  the  house.  This 
is  immediately  confirmed  by  Emily's  assenting  to  the  dicta- 
tion of  her  Aunt,  although  the  previous  speech  has  made 
us  acquainted  with  the  fact  that  tomorrow  comes  the  anni- 
versary of  the  wedding  day  of  Emily  and  Mildmay.  We 
have  had  a  reason  why  for  everything  in  the  progress  of 
this  conversation.  It  was  Self-explanatory  that  Mildmay 
would  like  to  have  a  tete-a-tete  with  his  wife,  free  from  the 
control  and  presence  of  her  Aunt.  A  further  Self-explan- 
atory reason  follows  in  his  speech  that  he  wanted  it  because 
it  was  their  wedding  anniversary.  The  first  offer  was  Self- 
explanatory  enough  at  the  time,  and  the  additional  reason 
is  new  and  convincing.  It  is  Self-explanatory  that  Mild- 
may rises  and  says  he  had  as  well  go  and  earth  up  his 
celery,  because  he  has  made  two  requests  and  urged  them 
in  several  speeches,  and  has  in  that  way  exhausted  his 
efforts  at  conciliation  that  evening.  That  Emily  and  Mrs. 
Sternhold  are  perverse  is  Self-explanatory,  because  they 
think  Mildmay  is  stupid,  and  we  see  one  reason  why  they 
think  he  is  stupid  in  that  he  wishes  to  engage  in  the  prosaic 
occupation  of  earthing  up  his  celery.  At  the  same  time,  it 
is  perfectly  Self-explanatory  that  he  is  willing  to  do  any- 
thing to  please  the  women,  at  least  Emily,  for  he  offers 
to  remain  if  she  only  says  so.  In  short,  the  scene  is  a  per- 
fect glimpse  into  the  life  which  they  have  been  latterly 
leading.  It  will  be  observed  that  Mildmay  never  replies 
harshly  to  Emily,  but  that  he  is  inclined  to  quietly  resent 
the  interpositions  of  the  Aunt.  It  is  plain  that  he  can  do 
nothing  more,  so  he  settles  himself  comfortably  on  the 
sofa.  The  author  is  holding  the  note  here  for  a  while  for 
the  technical  purpose  of  allowing  Mildmay  to  fall  asleep. 


ACTION    MUST    BE^    SEl<F-EXPI.ANATORY,    ETC.  303 

but,  in  doing  so,  he  does  not  fail  to  make  his  points,  for 
when  Mrs.  Sternhold  asks  Emily  to  give  her  a  little  music, 
Emily  replies,  "with  pleasure,  what  shall  I  play  you?"  Mrs. 
Sternhold,  "anything  you  like."  Note  that  a  number  of  lit- 
tle facts  are  repeated,  but  always  in  some  new  relation. 
Thus  we  find  that  Potter  is  promptly  snubbed  on  the  same 
ground  that  Mildmay  had  once  before  been  nagged  at 
about,  namely,  that  he  always  falls  asleep  after  dinner. 
Mildmay  is  now  apparently  asleep.  The  most  pointed  ac- 
cusation as  to  Mildmay's  stupidity  comes  up  in  the  Dia- 
logue between  the  two  women  after  the  two  men  are 
apparently  in  a  doze.  We  have  some  of  the  reasons  why 
Emily  is  dissatisfied  with  her  husband,  and  in  this  talk 
with  Mrs.  Sternhold  she  conveys  to  us  an  additional  reason 
that  makes  her  conduct  Self-explanatory,  namely,  her  ro- 
mance, and  in  Mrs.  Sternhold's  reply  to  her  we  get  a 
glimpse  of  a  money-loving  woman.  All  this  has  been  Self- 
explanatory,  sufficient  for  the  moment,  and,  immediately 
thereafter,  and  later  on  we  get  new  facts  and  confirmation 
for  what  has  been  partly  but  sufficiently  Self-explanatory. 
The  whole  scene  has  moved  forward  by  the  forces  within 
itself.  It  has  not  had  the  aid  of  anything  outside  of  it  and 
belonging  to  the  Plot  proper.  It  has  been  Self-explanatory 
from  beginning  to  end.  It  has  been  without  a  Monologue 
or  an  Aside.  It  is  a  perfect  example  of  the  Self-explana- 
tory, the  Self-developing  and  the  Self-progressive.  It  would 
not  be  improper  to  divide  this  material  into  three  scenes, 
considering  the  incident  of  the  little  interchange  of  talk  be- 
tween Mrs.  Sternhold  and  Potter  and  then  between  Emily 
and  Mrs.  Sternhold  as  the  second  scene,  and  the  incident 
of  Emily's  knotting  her  handkerchief  and  bringing  it  down 
on  Mildmay's  face,  up  to  Mildmay's  Exit  the  third  scene; 
but  it  will  be  observed  that  it  is  all  practically  one  scene, 
for  it  carries  out  the  one  object  of  showing  that  Mildmay 
is  held  in  no  esteem  in  his  own  household.  Indeed,  this 
fact  has  been  sufficiently  established  in  what  we  might  call 
the  first  scene  up  to  the  time  that  both  Mildmay  and  Potter 


304  ANALYSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

fall  asleep.  But  the  author  had  other  things  in  his  mind. 
He  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  permitting  the  audi- 
ence to  see  what  use  he  was  going  to  make  of  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold's  significant  observations  on  Mildmay.  He  kept  the 
attention  fixed  upon  one  object  of  the  scene,  namely,  the 
loss  of  all  authority  by  Mildmay  in  the  household.  The 
two  or  three  speeches  between  Emily  and  Mrs.  Sternhold 
are  a  continuation  of  the  main  object  of  the  one  scene.  We 
are  getting,  however,  something  new  all  the  time,  or  a  con- 
firmation of  what  we  already  know  with  new  aspects.  In 
the  second  incident,  where  Mildmay  announces  that  he  is 
going  to  Manchester  that  night,  the  author  had  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  conveying  to  the  audience  Mildmay's 
object  in  making  the  trip,  but  it  is  Self-explanatory  to  the 
degree  required.  The  only  comment  that  is  made  on  it  is 
Emily's  remark  that  "you  never  said  a  wbrd  about  it  until 
now."  Mildmay  replies,  "why  should  I?"  These  two  inci- 
dents do  not  advance  the  Action  except  as  they  confirm  the 
state  of  affairs  between  man  and  wife.  The  two  scenes,  as 
we  may  call  them,  are  scenes  of  Preparation.  That  Mild- 
may is  going  to  Manchester  is  not  Self-explanatory  as  to 
the  object,  but  it  is  Self-explanatory  in  that  he  has  said 
nothing  to  his  wife  about  it  before.  It  cannot  be  Self-ex- 
planatory that  he  is  going  to  Manchester  to  look  into  the 
history  of  Hawksley,  because  the  name  of  Hawksley  has, 
not  been  mentioned  up  to  this  point.  It  is  mentioned  only 
after  Mildmay  makes  his  Exit.  The  scene  so  far  has  been 
Self-explanatory  within  itself;  after  that  point  the  Action 
becomes  Self-explanatory  by  reason  of  what  has  gone  be- 
fore, beginning  with  what  has  happened  in  the  first  scene. 
It  is  a  common  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  first  part  of  a 
play  should  be  a  mere  exposition  of  the  relations  between 
people.  It  is  sometimes  stated  that  the  first  act  is  intended 
for  exposition.  On  the  contrary,  if  this  scene  were  merely 
Self-explanatory  as  to  the  relations  between  the  people,  it 
would  amount  to  nothing.    There  must  be  Action  always, 


ACTION    MUST    BK    SEIv^-e:XPLANATORY,    ETC.  305 

and  that  Action  must  be  •  Self-explanatory,  but  this  scene 
holds  the  future  in  its  embrace. 
^  "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  begins  in  a  Self- 
\  explanatory  way  and  continues  so  throughout.  It  is  true 
that  Tapwell  turns  Wellborn  adrift  on  the  orders  of  Marrall 
in  pursuance  of  Sir  Giles's  plan  to  ruin  him.  That  fact, 
however,  was  not  required  in  this  first  scene.  To  have  a 
scene  Self-explanatory  does  not  mean  that  everythmg  must 
be  told  or  brought  out  at  one  time.  TapwelFs  reason  for 
doing  what  he  does  is  one  that  is  universally  understood. 
"If  you  haven't  any  money  you  needn't  come  around."  That 
certainly  is  simple  enough.  What  is  talked  about  between 
them  comes  from  the  necessities  of  the  case.  The  charges 
and  the  replies  arise  naturally  from  the  circumstances.  It 
is  Self-explanatory  in  every  sentence.  We  see  why  Well- 
born is  angry  and  why  he  beats  the  inkeeper,  an  ingrate. 
Above  all  we  see  how  and  why  Wellborn  is  humiliated  and 
feels  his  humiliation  to  that  degree  that  he  determines  to 
rise,  if  he  can,  now  that  his  feet  have  touched  bottom.  If 
Wellborn  had  knocked  at  the  door  demanding  entrance,  and 
Tapwell  had  told  him  to  go  away  to  sleep  under  the  canopy 
of  the  heavens  or  in  a  barn,  and  Wellborn  had  asserted  that 
he  had  given  him  the  money  to  set  himself  up  in  business, 
etc.,  we  would  not  have  had  essential  facts  explained  to  us 
in  their  right  ofder.  Wellborn  may  have  lost  his  money  in 
speculation  and  not  in  dissipation.  We  must  see  him  first 
as  the  drunkard.  If  his  dissipation  is  explained  later  it  is 
the  cart  before  the  horse.  It  might  still  be  Self-explana- 
tory, but  not  in  the  dramatic  w'ay.  Sequence  and  Cause 
and  Effect  have  to  do  with  it.  Wellborn  might  have  knock- 
ed at  the  door,  been  turned  away,  and  then  in  a  monologue, 
have  told  the  audience  all  about  Tapwell,  Old  Sir  John 
Wellborn,  his  own  career  as  a  spendthrift,  etc.,  but  the 
manner  of  it  would  have  been  so  lamely  Self-explanatory 
that  we  could  not  admit  it  as  dramatic.  As  it  is,  the  needed 
explanations  are  brought  out  in  flash  and  fire  in  the  contro- 
versy between  them.  It  is  not  one  man  explaining  things, 
20 


306  ANAI^YSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.E 

but  the  Action  itself  that  explains;  the  Action  itself  ex- 
plains itself.  It  is  what  happens  before  our  eyes,  the  matter 
of  the  moment,  that  explains  itself  and  incidentally  conveys 
needed  information  not  only  for  immediate  use,  but  for  fu- 
ture bearing.  The  Dialogue  between  Wellborn  and  All- 
worth  does  not  explain  anything  for  the  benefit  of  the  audi- 
ence, but  what  they  do  and  feel  is  explained  by  what  they 
say.  Their  subjective  Action  is  Self-explanatory,  their  mo- 
tives made  clear,  and  the  impressions  conveyed  to  us,  the 
objective  Action,  affording  us  that  clear  intelligence  which 
is  needed  for  sympathy  and  interest.  Why  does  not  Well- 
born accept  aid  and  money  from  his  young  friend.  It  is  an- 
swered in  what  he  says  to  AUworth.  His  present  plight 
was  his  own  fault,  he  will  redeem  himself  alone.  Let  us 
suppose  that  Wellborn  and  Allwbrth  had  come  on  together 
at  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  their  identity  and  relations  would 
not  have  been  Self-explanatory.  As  it  is  we  have  only  one 
thing  presented  at  the  time.  Of  course,  if  they  had  come  on 
at  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  AUworth's  first  words  might  have 
explained  at  once  that  he  was  Wellborn's  friend  and  that  he 
wished  to  help  him,  but  we  would  have  known  nothing  of 
what  is  now  conveyed  in  the  first  scene,  and  Wellborn's  re- 
cital of  his  treatment  would  have  been  explanation  and  not 
Self-explanatory.  Such  a  scene  might  be  made  Self-expla- 
natory, but  it  would  probably  be  so  awkward,  so  lame,  com- 
pared with  Massinger's  way  of  doing  it  that  it  would  not  be 
dramatic  in  the  proper  degree.  What  a  confusion  there 
would  be  in  our  minds  if  Wellborn,  the  tramp,  came  on  in 
a  great  fury,  followed  by  Allworth,  declaiming  against  the 
ingratitude  of  Tapwell.  Let  him  explain  to  Allworth;  it 
would  merely  be  Self-explanatory  of  his  anger.  We  would 
not  learn  the  things  we  wanted  to  know.  Inexperienced 
writers  fail  to  provide  the  Self-explanatory  by  reason  of 
not  wiriting  objectively,  by  reason  of  withholding  from  the 
audience  what  the  writer  is  familiar  with  and  is  necessary 
for  an  understanding,  of  the  situation,  but  of  which  the  au- 
dience is  ignorant.    To  have  had  Wellborn  in  a  rage  at  be- 


ACTION    MUST    BEJ    S^LF-EXPI^ANATORY,    ETC.  2P7       ~    ' 

ing  refused  drink  would  not  have  touched  the  point  intend- 
ed by  Massinger.  "Rogue,  what  am  I  ?"  The  first  sentence 
shows  that  he  is  angered  because  of  the  treatment  of  under- 
lings, of  people  beneath  him  in  his  former  state.  It  is  seen 
at  once.  It  is  enough.  Then  we  have  a  number  of  inter- 
vening points,  including  his  history,  and  finally  that  it  was 
Wellborn  who  supplied  the  ready  gold  for  the  purchase  of 
the  inn.  If  this  point  had  not  been  kept  to  the  last,  all  the 
account  of  Old  Sir  John  would  have  been  pure  explanation 
for  the  audience.  After  the  Action  is  once  fairly  started  it 
becomes  Self-explanatory  by  reason  of  the  prearranged 
Plot.  /Could  anything  be  more  Self-Explanatory  than  Lady 
Atlwbrth's  counselling  her  step-son  against  associating 
with  Wellborn?  Her  high  character  and  what  she  says  be-, 
fore  she  mentions  the  name  of  Wellborn,  coupled  with  our 
knowledge  of  the  facts,  make  it  Self-explanatory.  The  ne- 
cessary Facts  have  been  predigested.  When  Wellborn  ar- 
rives, we  know  exactly  the  state  of  affairs.  If  we  did  not 
know<  of,  had  not  been  absolutely  persuaded  of,  her  rever- 
ence for  the  memory  of  her  husband,  how  lame  would  have 
been  the  scene  in  which  Wellborn  gains  her  sympathy  by 
reason  of  it,  and  if  she  had  to  explain  to  the  audience  why 
she  yielded.  It  is  Preparation,  then,  that  provides  for  the 
Self-explanatory.  Omit  the  beatings  of  Marrall  by  Sir 
Giles,  and  have  Marrall  explain  his  final  conduct  by  tellmg 
of  them,  and  his  conduct  is  or  would  certainly  not  be  Self- 
explanatory;  there  would  have  been  no  Self-development, 
and  the  Action  would  not  have  been  Self-progressive.  You 
may  say  that  no  one  would  make  omission  of  such  obvious 
needs  to  the  Action ;  but  mistakes  of  an  equivalent  kind  are 
constantly  made  by  the  unpracticed  dramatist.  It  occurs 
in  minor  things,  in  the  simplest  dialogue.  This  very  play 
could  be  so  arranged  that  pretty  much  everything  would  be 
explanation,  and  it  wxDuld  yet  preserve  all  the  material  and 
the  present  Plot.  Omit  Wellborn's  advice  to  Allworth  con- 
cerning Margaret  and  his  description  of  the  character  and 
plans  of  Sir  Giles  and  reserve  the  substance  of  it  for  expla- 


308  ANAI^YSIS   Olf  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI^K 

nation  on  the  part  of  Allworth  to  Lord  Lovell  in  the  first 
scene  between  them,  we  would  not  have  room  to  make  Self- 
explanatory  that  which  the  present  scene  between  them, 
Allworth  and  Lord  Lovell,  requires.  The  scene  would  be 
too  diffuse  if  Self-explanatory  about  too  many  things.  It 
would  become  merely  Self-explanatory  and  devoid  of  Ac- 
tion or  would  pulsate  too  weakly.  It  would  be  explanatory 
of  the  Story  and  not  of  the  immediate  Action.  We  already 
know  the  Facts  and  why  he  asks  Lord  Lovell  to  do  this  ser- 
vice for  him.  The  immediate  Action  concerns  the  request. 
Sir  Giles  is  duped  first  as  to  the  marriage  of  Wellborn  and 
the  intentions  of  Lord  Lovell,  consequently,  all  that  hap- 
pens afterwards  is  Self-explanatory,  Self-developing  and 
Self-progressive.  The  forces  within  the  play  give  the  Ac- 
tion this  quality  of  self. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


COMPULSION. 

Compulsion  is  that  force  operating  on  the  mind  and  de- 
termining the  conduct  of  a  character  which  compels  him  to 
J  act  according  to  the  circumstances  that  have  arisen  in  the 
Action,  and  which,  in  the  very  nature  of  the  drama,  cannot 
constantly  be  controlled  by  him. 

One  characteristic  of  the  drama  which  differentiates  it 
more  distinctly  from  the  novel  than  perhaps  any  other  is 
that  the  etiaracters  do  not  have  their  own  way  in  anything 
like  the  same^egree.  Cause  and  Effect  and  other  principles 
h^rv^  already  been  explained,  making  it  clear  that  a  logical 
series  of  happenings,  caused  one  by  the  other  make  a  dra- 
matic Action.  There  is  an  unexpectedness  about  these 
happenings,  of  a  necessity.  In  "Ingomar''  Parthenia  is  forced 
to  make  the  journey  and  offer  herself  as  hostage.  This  Com- 
pulsion exists  in  life  and  comes  from  the  very  nature  and  con- 
stitution of  our  social  and  personal  relations ;  but  absolutely 
does  not  exist  at  all  times  in  life  or  Story;  while  in  drama 
it  is  constanaly  existent  until  the  matter  at  issue  is  solved. 
There  must  be  something  to  overcome  all  the  time.  The 
Compulsion,  of  course,  may  come  from  within  as  well  as 
without.  Ingomar  is  forced  by  his  love  for  a  pure  woman 
and  the  circumstances  of  that  love  to  choose  between  his 
tribe  and  the  woman  he  loves.  He  has  to  make  a  comprcH 
mise  with  his  savage  followers  in  order  to  gain  possession 
of  Parthenia  as  his  part  of  the  booty.  He  is  about  to  be 
forced  to  betray  his  countrymen,  but  is  compelled  by  his 
own  sense  of  honor  and  the  circumstances  of  the  case  to 
even  abandon  Parthenia  and  return  to  his  savage  life,  but 
circumstances  change,  and  he  remains  with  Parthenia  and 
becomes  a  Timarch.  It  is  an  evolution  of  circumstances, 
a  constant  series  of  compromises  and  struggles  with  con- 
flicting  interests   and   selfishness.     Nobody   has   his   own 


3IO  ANAIyYSIS   01^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPIvE 

sweet  will  in  a  play.  You  have  to  add,  subtract,  multiply 
and  perform  all  sorts  of  mathematical  calculations  before 
you  get  the  final  result.  See  in  each  of  these  plays  which 
we  are  considering,  how  and  why  it  is  that  such  and  such 
things  happen,  and  WHY  such  and  such  people  have  to  do 
such  and  such  things. 

In  a  manner,  people  are  compelled  to  act  according  to 
their  character  and  desire  to  do  things ;  but  a  character  that 
has  everything  his  own  way  simply  in  accordance  with  his 
character  and  desire  would  not  be  a  very  useful  dramatic 
figure.  The  definite  application  of  the  principle  comes  from 
the  conditions  and  the  Action  which  make  what  the 
character  does  the  one  thing  to  do  in  his  judg- 
ment, in  these  conditions  and  circumstances.  He  is 
not  deprived  of  volition  and  motive.  His  judgment 
may  be  wrong,  and  what  he  does  may  be  agree- 
able or  disagreeable  to  him,  but  he  does  it  because  of 
some  circumstance  which  arises.  Melnotte  is  impelled 
rather  than  compelled  to  send  flowers  and  verse  to  Pauline, 
for  it  is  volition  and  comes  from  within ;  but  when  his  mes- 
senger is  sent  back  to  him,  scorned  and  beaten,  something 
has  happened  which  compels  him  to  resentment  and  further 
(Action.  Although  the  distinction  between  Impulsion  and 
Compulsion  is  apparently  fine  sometimes,  it  is  well  to  make 
the  distinction.  The  play  is  full  of  Compulsion,  absolute 
and  marked.  Melnotte  is  compelled,  against  his  nature,  to 
attempt  the  deception;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  is 
compelled  to  carry  on  the  deception  and  fulfill  his  contract 
by  reason  of  the  danger  from  the  Directory.  Otherwise,  he 
would  have  been  exposed  and  punished ;  besides,  after  hav- 
ing compromised  Pauline,  he  saw  that  she  loved  him,  and 
that  if  he  abandoned  her  she  would  fall  a  prey  to  Beauseant. 
Hope  urges  and  compels  him  to  accompany  Damas  to  the 
wars.  It  is  the  only  way  for  him  to  redeem  himself.  His 
sense  of  infamy  will  not  permit  him  to  accept  Pauline^s  sac- 
rifice. Their  lives  would  be  ruined.  Pauline  is  compelled 
to  believe  in  Melnotte's  sincerity  of  love  by  various  circum- 


COMPUI.SION  3^1 

Stances.  Melnotte,  as  well  as  Beauseant,  is  compelled  to . 
seek  revenge.  Pauline  is  compelled  to  sacrifice  herself  in 
order  to  save  her  father  in  his  bankruptcy.  Beauseant  and 
Glavis  are  compelled  to  submit  to  Melnotte's  disposal  of 
their  jewels,  because  they  cannot  interfere  without  seeing 
their  plan  fail.  True,  it  is  a  form  of  Cause  and  Effect,  but 
the  Cause  is  from  wiithout.  The  fancy  of  Damas  for  Mel- 
notte is  caused  rather  than  actually  compelled  by  circum- 
stances, but  while  the  volition  of  Damas  has  much  to  do ' 
with  it,  it  is  what  Melnotte  does  that  compels  his  friend- 
ship. If  Damas  had  taken  a  fancy  to  him  from  the  begin- 
ning, it  would  be  much  weaker;  we  would  have  had  no, 
duel.  It  is  by  means  of  this  Compulsion  that  we  have 
scenes  and  Action. 
T^  In  one  form  or  another  Compulsion  exists  in  every  play, 
'  but  is  more  evident  in  plays  of  Plot  than  in  plays  of  emotion 
and  character.  Compulsion  is  found  in  Cause  and  Effect, 
but  that  which  we  distinctly  call  Compulsion  is  what 
is  done  by  reason  of  a  happening  beyond  the  control  of 
the  Character  influenced  compelling  him  to  act  as  he  does 
and  as  it  is  necessary  that  the  particular  character  should 
act  for  the  purpose  of  your  play.  It  is  from  without  rather 
than  from  within  that  this  compelling  force  comes, — and 
more  from  judgment  and  necessity  than  from  motive.  It  is 
something  apart  from  free  will,  the  opposite  of  design,  and 
produced  by  the  clash  of  opposing  wills  or  the 
combination  of  circumstances.  The  most  striking  bit^ 
of  Compulsion  in  "Camille"  is  the  self-sacrifice  of 
Camille  by  reason  of  the  representations  of  Du- 
val. Purely  as  a  matter  of  emotion  Camille  would  not  have 
yielded ;  she  stands  her  ground  valiantly  until  facts  compel 
her  judgment.  Duval  says:  "I  have  a  daughter  young, 
beautiful  and  pure  as  an  angel.  .  She  loves  as  you  do.  That 
love  has  been  the  dream  of  her  life.  But  the  family  of  the 
man  about  to  marry  her  has  learned  the  relation  between 
you  and  Armand  and  declared  the  withdrawal  of  their  con- 
sent unless  he  gives  you  up.    You  see,  then,  how  much  de- 


312  ANAI.YSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

pends  on  you.  Let  me  entreat  you  in  the  name  of  your  love 
for  her  brother,  to  save  my  daughter's  peace."  That  deter- 
mines Camille.  "I  understand  you  and  you  are  right/'  she 
replies.  It  usually  takes  a  fact  or  some  happening  to 
amount  to  Compulsion.  Duval  is  compelled  to  respect  her 
gradually,  by  her  bearing  and  utterance.  True;  but  by 
what  conclusive  fact  is  his  full  respect  accomplished?  Ca- 
mille shows  him  a  list  of  all  she  possesses  on  earth.  She  is 
compelled  to  show  him  this  list  in  self  defence.  He  sees  that, 
she  was  about  to  abandon  all  for  her  love  for  Ar- 
mand.  Nothing  that  she  could  have  said  in  mere 
words  could  have  had  the  same  effect.  In  each  case  there 
were  Unexpected  facts  operating  against  the  will.  This 
Compulsion  may  be  noted  not  alone  in  the  Plot,  but  in  the 
minute  movements  of  the  Action  which  may  be  called  me- 
chanical, but  which  are  wholly  natural.  Nichette,  it  is  true, 
has  a  motive  for  making  her  exit  in  the  second  scene,  but  it 
depends  upon  something  apart  from  her  mere  will;  Gustave 
is  waiting  for  her.  That  comes  within  our  definition  of 
Compulsion.  The  Dialogue  which  follows  between  Var- 
ville  and  Nanine  is  compelled  by  what  has  happened,  and  is 
not  mere  curiosity,  neither  is  it  a  mere  convenience  of  the 
author.  Camille  has  been  compelled  to  give  up  her 
effort  to  enter  society.  This  Compulsion,  then,  is  a  dis- 
tinct motive  power  in  the  Action  apart  from  individual  mo- 
tive. It  makes  the  wheels,  large  and  small,  go  round.  Var- 
ville  is  compelled  to  leave  because  of  his  treatment,  because 
he  is  not  invited  to  remain  to  supper,  and  because  he  sees 
that  his  "star  is  not  propitious."    It  is  not  Camille's  initia- 

^tiy^that  brings  Armand  to  her. 

\  The  tendency  of  the  drama  is  strongly  against  having 
things  happen  according  to  individual  volition.  Ca- 
mille is  compelled,  in  a  manner,  to  like  Armand, 
from  something  that  is  said  in  a  conversation  in 
which  she  takes  no  part.  She  is  also  interested  in  the  story 
of  his  devotion,  which  she  now  hears  for  the  first  time,  al- 
though she  has  known  of  attentions  by  an  unknown  caller 


COMPULSION  313 

during  an  illness.  She  is  compelled  to  believe  his  sincerity 
by  the  evidences  of  it.  She  is  compelled  to  discourage  his 
attentions  by  reason  of  her  mode  of  life  and  her  regard  for 
his  social  position  and  this  new  form  of  devotion.  Of  course, 
the  Compulsion  of  emotion  largely  prevails,  but  the  Com- 
pulsion of  Fact  is  strong  and  decisive.  Armand's  jealousy 
and  his  note  compel  her  to  hesitate  in  receiving  his  further 
attentions,  although  there  is  a  marked  conflict  between  her 
love  and  her  judgment.  In  order  to  see  Armand  she  is  com- 
pelled to  send  Varville  off,  and  Varville  is  compelled  to  go. 
A  note  is  received  from  Varville,  and  when  Armand  makes 
it  "the  touchstone  of  her  worth"  she  is  compelled  to  make 
her  choice  of  Action.  Do  you  not  see  the  difference  be- 
tween  Compulsion  and  mere  volition  when  you  assume  that 
this  very  same  result  could  have  been  reached  at  the  end  of 
the  interview  between  the  lovers  without  the  inter- 
vention of  this  note?  <  Of  course,  drama  does  not 
exclude  volition,  but  the  whole  tendency  is  toward  outside 
Compulsion  of  some  sort,  direct  or  incidental.  ^Camille's 
first  impulse  is  to  retire  and  not  to  talk  with  Duval,  but  an 
outside  matter,  a  fact,  the  letter  which  Duval  produces  com- 
pels her  to  remain  and  stand  her  ground.  These  two  people 
are  arguing  for  their  lives,  so  to  speak.  If  you  were  under 
a  charge  affecting  your  honor  and  safety  would  you  speak 
merely  because  you  wanted  to  or  because  of  the  Compul- 
sion ?  V  Everything  that  happens  in  the  fourth  act  down  to 
its  conclusion  is  against  the  will.  Camille  is  compelled  to 
remain  at  the  ball  once  she  is  there.  She  did  not  expect  Ar- 
mand to  be  there.  She  is  compelled  to  keep  her  secret  of  self- 
sacrifice,  but  is  also  compelled  to  talk  with  Armand  in  order 
to  prevent,  if  possible,  the  duel.  Armand  is  compelled  to  seek 
the  duel  in  a  roundabout  way,  for  he  has  no  real  rights  in 
the  matter  and  would  make  himself  ridiculous  otherwise. 
Varville  is  compelled  to  fight.  It  might  be  said  that  Ar- 
mand's  act  in  showering  Camille  with  the  money  in  con- 
tempt is  pure  volition.  No,  the  circumstances  are  back  of 
it.     It  is  not    caprice,  vacillation    or  volition     merely  that 


314  ANALYSIS    O^   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

causes  Duval  to  write  to  Camille  and  to  reveal  her  sacrifice 
to  Armand.  He  is  compelled  to  do  so  by  the  circumstances. 
And  so,  to  the  end  of  the  play,  volition  goes  hand  in  hand 
with  circumstances.  The  mere  will  does  not  govern  cir- 
cumstances,    t 

Compulsi(>n  m  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  is  very  marked. 
Characters  act  according  to  circumstances,  according  to 
happenings  either  not  of  their  direct  causing  or  beyond 
their  immediate  control.  We  feel  in  the  very  beginning  of 
the  Action  that  Mildmay  has  a  reason  for  his  patient  con- 
duct. The  principal  and  controlling  reason  does  not  appear 
in  the  first  scene,  but  we  soon  realize,  in  analysis,  what  we 
know  from  the  Proposition  of  the  play,  that  he  can  not  re- 
gain his  influence  in  his  household  and  master  the  three 
people  in  it  until  he  has  thwarted  Hawksley  at  every  point. 
That  he  has  to  thwart  him  first  is  nominated  in  the  bond, 
stated  in  the  Proposition;  if  this  plan  were  not  carried  out 
it  would  be  some  other  play,  not  the  play  that  has  held  the 
boards  so  long  and  afforded  such  opportunities  to  so  many 
good  actors.  It  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  have  a  wrong 
Sequence,  to  drop  a  stitch  somewhere  in  the  construction, 
and  put  Mildmay  in  a  position  where  he  would  be  compell- 
ed to  act  otherwise  than  he  does.  If  he,  instead  of  Mrs. 
Sternhold,  had  overheard  the  conversation  between  Emily 
and  Hawksley  the  compulsion  for  him  to  emerge  and  settle 
matters  then  and  there  would  have  been  stronger  than  the 
very  Proposition  and  premises  of  the  play.  But  the  drama- 
tist does  not  put  him  in  that  position.  Hawksley  is  forced 
to  give  up  his  plan  with  Emily  for  the  night  by  his  scene  with 
Mrs.  Sternhold,  for  he  knows  that  she  is  on  the  watch. 
Emily  could  have  no  better  duenna  now  than  her  aunt.  At 
all  events,  it  is  all  up  with  Hawksley,  for  the  night.  There 
is  a  slight  distinction  between  an  act  that  is  Caused  and  one 
that  is  Compelled.  Mrs.  Sternhold's  hiding  behind  the 
screen  of  plants  is  caused  by  what  has  been  told  her  by  Pot- 
ter. Of  course,  she  is  compelled  by  a  sense  of  duty  as  well 
as  by  the  spirit  of  jealousy.    It  is  true  that  she  does  some- 


COMPULSION  315 

thing  not  of  her  own  initiative  and  that  is  dramatic  Compul- 
sion, but  it  is  not  as  distinctly  Compulsion  as  Mildmay's  ap- 
parent  inaction  or  silence,  or  as  Mrs.  Sternhold's  necessity 
to  keep  silence  after  she  is  threatened  with  the  making  pub- 
lic of  her  thirteen  letters  to  Hawksley.  She  is  in  a  tight  fix, 
is  the  dame  with  the  rouge  pot  and  a  temper.  She  has  lost 
faith  in  the  shares  as  well  as  in  the  adorable  Hawksley  as  a 
gentleman.  Dare  say,  she  would  use  her  claws  on  the  ad- 
venturer if  it  came  to  the  worst,  but  in  the  meanwhile  she  is 
compelled  to  stand  by  and  see  matters  take  their  course. 
Hawksley  played  it  low  down  on  her.  He  plays  a  gambit 
opening  on  her  and  checkmates  her  in  about  three  moves. 
Is  there  anything  to  test  one's  temper  more  than  that?  She 
is  humiliated,  bound  and  gagged,  and  can't  move  a  foot.  If 
you  have  not  been  able  to  see  Dramatic  Compulsion  before 
this  time,  behold  it  now.  No  doubt  Emily  would  have  told 
her  husband  about  Hawksley's  conduct,  in  the  last  scene,  if 
she  had  not  felt  compelled  to  remain  silent  because  Mild- 
may  is  about  to  survey  the  premises  with  the  shot  gun.  She 
was  compelled  to  remain  silent  or  expose  herself  at  a  mo- 
ment when  she  might  have  involved  herself  in  a  tragedy. 
The  amiable  suggestion  may  also  be  made  that  Emily  was 
compelled  to  do  a  little  lying  when  her  husband  asks  her 
how  the  garden  door  came  to  be  open.  Fortunately,  neither 
the  natural  nor  the  dramatic  necessity  required  her  to  do  any 
elaborate  and  detailed  lying.  Mrs.  Sternhold  sends  Potter  to 
get  Mildmay  to  come  to  her  so  that  she  may  have  a  talk 
with  him  and  lay  her  cause  before  him.  She  has  a  definite 
purpose,  but  she  is  compelled  to  forego  it  when  she  sees 
that  Mildmay  has  no  sympathy  with  her  and  when  he  re- 
minds her  of  what  she  has  said  about  him  that  morning. 
The  mild  Mildmay  takes  occasion  to  lay  down  the  law  to 
her,  and  she  does  what  she  has  not  intended  to  do,  keeps  sil- 
ent about  Hawksley  and  the  letters.  Compulsion.  There 
could  be  no  better  example  of  Compulsion  than  the  manner 
and  means  taken  by  Mildmay  to  compel  Hawksley  to  give 
up  the  letters  and  return  the  money  for  the  shares  and  take 


3l6  ANAI.YSIS    Oi^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.^ 

back  the  shares.  Is  there  any  absolute  Compulsion  that 
forces  Mildmay  to  listen  to  Hawksley's  algebraic  demon- 
stration of  his  scheme?  Yes,  in  order  to  make  Hawksley 
feel  that  the  mild  Mildmay  sees  through  his  chicanery  and 
pretensions.  That  effect  is  conveyed  perfectly.  Hawksley 
feels  that  the  ground  is  giving  away  from  under  him  with 
every  cool  and  penetrating  remark  made  by  his  antagonist. 
It  comes  within  the  definition  of  Compulsion  whenever 
characters  shape  their  conduct  according  to  circumstances. 
We  cannot  insist  that  it  must  be  the  only  possible  thing 
they  could  do,  but  it  is  what  a  person  of  a  certain  character 
would  do  under  given  circumstances  or  what  he  does  if  it  is 
not  inconsistent  with  the  character.  It  may  not  be  what 
you  would  do  in  the  same  circumstances  if  you  knew  what 
you  do  know  as  a  spectator.  Hawksley  is  in  desperate 
straits  for  money;  we  have  seen  that  from  his  talk  with 
Dunbilk.  He  is  not  going  to  lose  his  chances.  He  does  not 
purpose  to  permit  himself  to  be  ruined  by  Mildmay's  talk. 
He  has  what  he  supposes  is  the  only  evidence  of  his  crimi- 
nality. He  does  not  expect,  perhaps,  to  get  Potter  to  invest 
or  to  regain  his  influence  over  Mrs.  Sternhold  or  to  suc- 
ceed with  Mrs.  Mildmay,  but  he  must  humiliate  Mildmay 
and  shut  his  mouth.  If  practical  motives  did  not  compel 
him  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  dinner  at  Mildmay's  and 
to  horsewhip  him,  his  conduct  would  be  preposterous  and 
merely  for  the  purposes  of  the  play.  Probably  such  an  au- 
dacious character  existed  in  London  at  the  period  of  this 
play,  but  he  would  not  have  taken  his  course  merely  out  of 
bravado.  He  does  take  it  and  falls  into  the  trap  prepared 
by  Mildmay.  Some  of  the  incidents  in  the  last  act  are  over- 
drawn, and  Compulsion,  mainly  implied  in  this  case,  is  the 
only  thing  that  makes  it  possible. 

"A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  is  substantial, 
so  rooted  in  character,  that  every  movement  in  it  is  motived. 
The  discrimination,  however,  which  you  will  have  to  make 
between  Motive  and  Compulsion,  or  that  which  gives  occa- 
sion to  conduct,  will  be  helpful  in  enabling  you  to  see  the 


COMPULSION  317 

principal  function  of  Compulsion  in  playwriting.  Character 
is  educed  by  circumstances.  The  play  opens  with  Compul- 
sion. Here  is  a  spendthrift  turned  out  of  a  taproom  by  for- 
mer tenants  of  his  to  whom  he  had  given  the  sum  necessary 
to  buy  the  inn.  He  had  reached  the  lowest  step  of  degrada- 
tion. There  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  Wellborn  had 
formed  the  design  which  he  puts  into  execution  later  on,  be- 
fore he  was  refused  even  "the  dropping  of  the  tap  for  his 
morning's  draught."  He  had  exhausted  his  last  resource. 
He  could  go  no  further  in  the  downw^ard  path.  He  was  com- 
pelled to  pull  himself  together  and  mount  again.  What  else 
was  there  for  him  to  do?  True,  his  design  was  voluntary, 
but  it  was  compelled  by  the  circumstances.  His  plan  of 
procedure  compelled  him  to  refuse  Allworth's  tender  of  mo- 
ney and  help.  Compulsion  is  more  plainly  visible  in  Plot 
than  elsewhere,  but  it  can  exist  in  the  minor  passages  of  a 
play.  It  exists  there  in  the  reasonableness  of  things.  One 
of  Wellborn's  reasons  for  refusing  aid  from  Allworth  is  that 
he  is  a  boy  and  lives  at  the  devotion  of  a  stepmother  and  the 
uncertain  favor  of  a  lord ;  but  he  is  compelled  to  refuse  the 
oifer  more  by  reason  of  circumstances  that  force  him  to  fol- 
low a  certain  plan.  Tom  Allworth,  the  boy,  is  compelled  to 
obey  his  stepmother's  injunction  to  give  up  the  company 
of  Wellborn.  It  was  no  voluntary  act  of  his  own.  It  is  true 
that  Lady  Allworth's  point  of  view  as  to  Wellborn,  who  had 
lost  himself  in  vicious  courses,  was  taken  from  her  elevation 
of  character ;  but  even  here,  the  initiative  of  her  thoughts  is 
to  be  referred  back  to  the  degradation  of  Wellborn.  Cir- 
cumstances compelled  her.  In  like  manner,  she  was  com- 
pelled to  grant  the  request  for  her  apparent  favor  made  by 
Wellborn.  Her  point  of  view  is  changed  entirely  by  the 
pious  remembrance  of  her  husband,  which  had  been  stirred 
by  him  who  is  a  suitor  for  her  kindness.  It  cannot  be  said 
that  Justice  Greedy  is  compelled  to  be  as  vicious  as  he  is, 
but  it  is  apparent  that  he  is  in  the  power  of  Sir  Giles,  and 
practically  compelled  to  carry  out  his  purposes.  Marrall  is 
in  much  the  same  position.     We  have  said  that  the  play 


3l8  ANAI.YSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI^E 

opens  with  Compulsion,  but  we  did  not  and  could  not  begin 
by  calling  attention  to  a  bit  of  Compulsion  which  is  reveal- 
ed for  the  first  time  in  the  talk  between  Sir  Giles  and  Mar- 
rail.  We  were  satisfied  with  the  knowledge  of  the  sordid 
and  heartless  nature  of  Tapwell  and  Froth ;  but  it  now  ap- 
pears that  they  were  compelled  to  turn  Wellborn  out,  be- 
cause Marrall  expressly  says  that  "last  night  he  caused  his 
host,  the  tapster,  to  turn  him  out  of  doors."  Here  again,  we 
have  a  minute  added  ray  of  light  on  the  state  of  affairs  which 
was  apparent  with  sufficient  force  for  technical  purposes  at 
the  moment,  namely,  that  Wellborn  had  lost  his  last  footing 
through  the  machinations  of  Sir  Giles.  Marrall's  motive  in 
accompanying  Wellborn  to  dine  with  Lady  Allworth  is  cu- 
riosity. The  circumstances  compel  him  to  accompany 
Wellborn.  The  servants  were  compelled  by  their  mistress 
to  receive  Wellborn  with  every  observance  of  courtesy.  No 
doubt,  Wellborn  was  better  clad  when  he  presented  himself 
with  Marrall  at  Lady  Allworth's  house  than  when  we  first 
saw  him.  Necessarily,  Marrall  was  compelled  to  believe  his 
own  eyes  when  he  saw  the  favor  in  which  Wellborn  seemed 
to  stand.  At  all  events,  Marrall  is  completely  cozened.  Sir 
Giles  is  certainly  warranted  by  all  the  circumstances  in  be- 
lieving that  Marrall  is  mad  to  tell  him  such  fantastic  stories 
of  Wellborn's  favor  with  Lady  Allworth  and  of  having  been 
taken  by  him  to  dine  with  her.  The  change  which  is  going 
to  compel  Marrall  to  become  Sir  Giles's  enemy  is  surely 
caused  largely  by  the  Compulsion  of  Sir  Giles's  stick.  He  is 
compelled  by  a  sense  of  injustice  and  by  the  smarting  of  the 
blows.  It  matters  not  how  much  his  emotions  are  involved, 
the  initiative  influence  is  from  outside.  He  is  drawn  to 
Wellborn  by  his  apparent  rise  and  prospects  in  the  world. 
\'  Sometimes  we  get  to  a  point  where  the  distinction  between 
Motive  and  Compulsion  is  very  fine,  but  whenever  the  infiu- 
S  ence  from  without  is  directly  at  work,  Compulsion  has  its 
I'sFTare  in  what  is  done.  The  result  may  come  from  Motive 
Lsuperinduced  by  outside  circumstances^^\  Margaret  is  a  du- 
tiful child,  and  perhaps  would  not  have  deceived  her  father 


COMPULSION  319 

in  the  most  critical  circumstances  of  a  woman's  life  and  of  a 
father's  love  and  ambition  for  her,  if  Sir  Giles  had  not  re- 
vealed to  her  his  ow^n  baseness  in  instructing  her  as  to  her 
conduct  in  the  coming  interview  with  Lord  Lovell.  _The 
drama  does  not^giieyent  characters  from  being  free  agents 
excepT  wiRen  fate  and  circumstances  control.  It  provides 
|or  the  Action  and  reaction  of  volition  and  circumstance.  A 
certain  Compulsion  is  always  present.  Sir  Giles  is  forced 
to  deceive  himself  by  reason  of  the  deception  practiced  on 
him  by  his  daughter  and  Lord  Lovell.  The  motive  power  of 
the  Action  of  the  Plot  proceeds  from  this  deception.  The 
Compulsion  which  orders  the  giving  of  the  ring  to  AUworth 
to  carry  him  to  the  presence  of  his  daughter  and  also  to 
obtain  a  license  for  her  marriage  at  Nottingham,  is  not  the 
less  Compulsion  because  Sir  Giles  is  not  conscious  of  it. 
Lady  Allworth  and  Lord  Lovell  are  brought  together  by 
reason  of  circumstances ;  they  were  both,  on  different  lines, 
aiding  and  abetting  in  the  conspiring  against  the  brutal  old 
miser,  and  each  had  to  do  with  the  love  affair  of  Tom  All- 
worth,  the  beloved  stepson  of  one,  and  the  equally  beloved 
follower  of  the  other.  Love  wtas  in  the  air.  Except  for 
these  compelling  circumstances,  Lady  Allworth  would  have 
listened  to  no  suitor.  Certainly  the  Compulsion  that  un- 
consciously hastens  Overreach's  footsteps  to  his  own  ruin, 
an  unrelenting  and  fierce  Compulsion,  is  a  different  degree 
from  the  gentle  Compulsion  which  brings  together  in  life 
two  people  beyond  the  ardors  of  the  passion  of  youth.  Just 
as  we  have  said  that  drama  is  not  determined  by  its  in- 
tensity (else  we  could  have  only  melodrama)  so  Compulsion 
has  its  different  degrees.  The  Compulsion  in  the^case  of  the 
razed  deed  is  absolute  and  decisive.  Sir  Giles  is  powerless. 
He  has  been  compelled  to  believe  by  circumstances  that 
Wellborn  is  married  to  Lady  Allworth.  True,  he  might  be 
able  to  proceed  against  his  nephew  for  moneys  recently 
loaned,  but  events  are  hurrying  him  on  to  his  own  ruin,  and 
his  madness  compels  him  to  forego  his  immediate  scheme  of 
revenge  for  his  latest  defeats.     His  madness  even  is  com- 


320  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

pelled  first  by  his  helplessness  in  the  matter  of  retaining  the 
land  out  of  which  he  has  defrauded  his  nephew,  and  then  by 
the  positive  and  unexpected  refusal  of  Marrall  to 
bear  witness  as  to  the  former  drawing  and  deliver- 
ing of  the  deed.  Circumstances  compel  his  madness. 
Sir  Giles  is  compelled  to  accept  the  facts  at  which 
his  reason  totters;  Margaret  is  married  to  the  lover 
of  her  choice,  and  the  workings  of  his  signet  ring  can- 
not be  undone.  Marrall  is  defeated  in  his  own  treachery, 
for  he  has  been  associated  in  the  ruining  of  Wellborn,  and 
can  gain  no  foothold  of  favor  with  him.  Wellborn  is  dou- 
bly bound  by  the  happy  turn  of  affairs  to  redeem  himself  in 
some  noble  way.  Until  then  he  is  "but  half  made  up.''  Be- 
lief in  his  sincerity  compels  the  other  characters  to  give  him 
their  admiration  and  friendship ;  and  finally  comes  the  most 
needful  of  all  Compulsion,  "a  fair  favor  due  to  the  poet's 
labors." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


FACTS. 


Dramatic  Fact  is  that  which  is  accepted  by  the  audience 
for  the  purposes  of  the  Action  and  made  actual  by  the  pro- 
cess of  Dramatic  law. 

There  should  be  no  such  thing  as  "probability"  in  a 
play.  A  thing  must  be  one  way  or  the  other.  It  matters 
not  how  "improbable"  the  general  theme  of  the  play  may 
be,  we  accept  as  Facts  the  wildest  extravagances,  in  plays 
expressly  improbable.  In  plays  dealing  with  ordinary  life 
the  Facts  must  be  real  Facts  and  not  merely  Facts  on  suf- 
ferance. Here,  again,  we  see  how  one  principle  in  the 
drama  is  linked  with  another,  for  if  we  have  a  Cause  that  we 
accept  or  an  Effect  that  we  accept  there  is  going  to  be  no 
improbability.  One  might  say  that  it  was  very  "improba- 
ble" for  Parthenia  to  risk  herself  among  the  barbarians. 
But  why  so?  She  does  it,  and  there  was  every  justification 
for  her  doing  it.»  But  we  must  prove  our  Facts  as  in  a  i- 
Court  at  law.*  All  the  Facts  necessary  to  prove  the  reason- 
ableness of  Parthenia's  expedition  are  clearly  set  forth.  We 
have  seen  them;  we  have  experienced  them  in  our  sym- 
pathetic attention;  we  have  lived  them  in  surrendering 
ourselves  to  the  illusion  of  the  Action  of  the  pJ^cJlngo- 
mar  is  not  only  possible  and  "probable,"  he  is  actual  in 
the  play.  He  possibly  never  existed,  but  he  has  been  made 
to  exist,  and  several  generations  of  actors  and  managers 
concerned  in  the  production  of  the  play  have  lived  and 
passed  away  since  he  and  Parthenia  began  to  live  on  the 
stage.  Facts^ -Facts,  Facts,  make  a  play.  It  is  in  the  Con- 
str;ictive  work  that  you  will  meet  your  difficulties  in  secur- 
ing Facts  and  proving  everything.  Because  of  missing  or 
unproved  Facts  many  plays  fail.  The  tendency  in  good 
writing  is  to  make  secure  your  Facts.     Objectivity  has  a 

21 


322  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE: 

good  deal  to  do  with  this,  but  all  the  principles  con- 
tribute. 
•HI^^The  Lady  of  Lyons"  is  so  romantic  that  it  might 
I  easily  have  fallen  into  a  mass  of  improbabilities  if  every- 
thing had  not  been  referred  to  dramatic  Fact.  A  Fact  from 
real  life  would  not  serve  in  the  drama  if  it  could  not  be  ac- 
cepted by  the  audience  or  if  it  were  too  improbable.  Mel- 
notte  lived  several  leagues  from  Lyons,  as  may  be  seen 
where  Beauseant  stops  at  the  inn  and  hears  him  acclaimed 
"Prince."  ^If  Melnotte  had  lived  in  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood of  Pauline,  the  story  would  have  been  absurd.  )  She 
would  have  known  of  the  title  which  Melnotte  bore  by  cour- 
tesy. He  assumes  an  Italian  title  when  he  is  presented  to 
the  Deschappelles.  Many  things  are  made  Facts  by 
means  of  Objectivity.  Such  Facts  are  proved.  Thus,  Mel- 
notte's  love  is  made  a  Fact  by  the  scene  with  his  mother; 
and  so  on  throughout  the  play.  It  requires  the  rejection  of 
Beauseant  to  make  a  Fact  of  the  charge  made  by  Damas  that 
they  would  be  wanting  a  Prince  next.  It  is  important  to  es- 
tablish the  Fact,  in  the  last  act,  that  Melnotte  thinks  Pau- 
line is  faithless,  that  she  is  really  making  a  sacrifice  of  her- 
self;  that  Melnotte  has  made  a  fortune  in  the  wars;  that  he 
has  not  been  known  to  Pauline  and  others  under  the  name 
of  Col.  Morier;  otherwise  we  would  not  understand  how  it 
was  possible  that  Pauline  had  heard  nothing  of  him  in  the 
meantime.  Not  only  is  Melnotte  bronzed  and  changed  in 
appearance,  in  name  and  in  dress,  but  he  is  muffled  up  and 
partly  conceals  his  face.  Moreover,  improbable  things  hap- 
pened in  these  romantic  times.  The  mother  and  the  daugh- 
ter were  blinded  by  their  folly,  to  begin  with.  The  father 
was  absorbed  in  business  and  had  nothing  to  say  in  the  so- 
cial aspirations  and  aims  of  his  family,  a  common  case. 
Damas  was  an  active  character,  consequently,  Dumas  made 
a  fact  of  his  suspicions,  of  his  bluntness  and  democracy  and 
final  friendship  with  Melnotte.  Some  of  these  Facts  had  to 
be  proved  Objectively,  others  were  acceptable  from  the 
statement  at  once  or  were  proved  later.    Again,  a  Fact  from 


I^ACTS  323 

real  life  or  in  the  Material  must  be  treated  in  the  dramatic 
way  in  order  to  serve.  If  Melnotte's  mother  had  not  con- 
veyed to  us  before  the  arrival  of  her  son  with  Pauline  that 
she  thought  her  son  had  told  Pauline  the  truth  about  his 
identity,  there  would  have  been  an  undramatic  use  of  the 

yYou  have  certain  Facts  in  your  Conditions  Precedent, 
trhey  are  Facts.  But  it  remains  to  convert  them  into  dra- 
matic Fact  and  introduce  them  into  your  play  so  as  to  make 
them  count  for  the  most.  Do  it  in  the  wrong  way,  and  they 
are  half  Fact  or  no  Fact  at  all.  All  that  Material  has  to  be 
translated  into  the  dramatic,  otherwise  it  may  not  be  even 
intelligible.  That  Camille  has  worked  as  an  embroideress 
in  the  same  establishment  with  Nichette  is  a  Fact  hardly  of 
any  importance  in  itself,  but  when  we  see  that  Camille  is 
not  forgetful  of  her  old  companions,  it  predisposes  us  to- 
ward her  at  the  outset.  Nichette  loves  her.  It  becomes  per- 
fectly clear  why  Camille  takes  such  an  interest  in  the  pure 
girl  and  her  happiness  in  marriage.  It  makes  the  subse- 
quent Episodes  possible  and  natural.  Observe  that  it  is 
used  almost  entirely  for  Episode.  If  any  part  of  the  Plot 
Action  had  turned  on  it,  more  would  have  been  made  of  it. 
We  might  have  had  to  prove  it  additionally.  The  Plot  Ac- 
tion does  turn  on  the  existence  of  Armand's  sister.  But 
there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  either  Armand  or  his  father  as 
to  her.  She  does  not  figure  except  through  others,  conse- 
quently, she  is  sufficiently  a  Fact.  After  the  Action  is  start- 
ed the  characters  and  their  emotions  become  visible  Facts. 
Prudence  is  a  gormand ;  we  see  it  at  the  supper.  She  is  im- 
provident and  always  in  need  of  money ;  scenes  are  provided 
to  show  it.  Without  them  the  scene  in  the  last  act  would 
count  for  nothing.  Everything  that  happens  offstage  and 
between  the  Acts  is  so  logical  that  we  accept  it  instantly. 
The  causes  have  to  be  shown.  We  know  that  Duval  has 
learned  to  respect  and  sympathize  with  the  true  love  of 
Camille  from  his  interview  with  her,  and  that  he  knows  that 
her  death  is,  in  some  degree,  the  result  of    her     sacrifice 


324  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPLE 

which  she  has  so  sufficiently  maintained.  Then  we  have  the 
letter  shown  to  us  Objectively.  If  Duval  had  parted  from 
Camille  in  anger,  and  without  sympathy,  his  letter  might 
still  be  Fact,  but  it  would  be  in  the  nature  of  "Story"  Fact. 
The  verity  and  reasonableness  of  everything  is  proved  logic- 
ally or  circumstantially ;  or  even  the  obvious  sincerity  of  the 
speaker.  The  history  of  Camille's  relations  with  the  Due  de 
Meuriac  is  essential  to  the  Action  and  requires  no  further 
proof,  although  we  have  incidents  that  make  us  sure  of  his 
individuality.  They  are  also  introduced  in  such  a  way  as 
not  to  disturb  the  Action.  Such  Facts  are  so  subordinate 
that  we  are  much  more  interested  in  some  dominating  and 
more  important  Fact  in  the  same  connection.  The  Fact  that 
Camille  has  friends  in  her  illness  who  have  not  forgotten  her 
entirely  is  more  important  than  the  gifts  themselves.  The 
fact  that  Gustave  lost  his  first  case  at  law  is  of  far  less  im- 
portance than  the  merriment  that  it  causes.  Does  it  pay  for 
itself  in  the  spirit  of  the  talk  between  Camille  and  Nichette  ? 
It  would  have  been  the  same  if  the  Plot  had  been  that  Gus- 
tave won  the  case  if  we  had  got  the  humor  of  it.  We  might 
have  imagined  the  Fourth  Act  omitted  entirely,  but  it  would 
make  a  great  difference  in  the  value  of  the  Facts.  The  duel 
could  still  have  been  fought,  but  Armand  would  not  have 
been  in  the  same  state  of  emotion  and  appreciation  of  the 
sufferings  of  Camille  when  he  arrived  lovingly  to  forgive 
her  and  ask  forgiveness.  The  play  is  built  solidly  of  Facts, 
and  it  is  difficult  to  contrive  examples  of  how  these  Facts 
could  have  been  destroyed  utterly.  The  very  reason  of  the 
long  vogue  of  this  play  is  bound  up  in  the  impression  of 
actuality  that  it  gives  in  performance.  The  vicissitudes  of 
emotion  that  are  actually  lived  by  Armand  and  Camille  are 
not  of  a  kind  that  could  be  simulated.  Omit  the  great  scene 
between  Duval  and  Camille  and  you  subtract  from  the  con- 
sequent Facts.  That  Camille  is  suffering  from  consumption 
is  purely  incidental.  Dumas  could  not  unite  her  with  Ar- 
mand except  by  her  death  at  the  end  of  the  play.  It  is  thus 
an  important  Fact,  but  the  Action  does  not  turn  on  it.    It 


L 


FACTS  325 

excites  the  apprehension  of  Armand  and  is  technically  used 
to  give  them  an  opportunity  for  their  first  talk.  The  Fact 
that  Camille  is  a  consumptive  is  usually  too  much  emphasiz- 
ed^ in  the  actingj 

Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  being  largely  a  play  of  Charac- 
ter the  Facts  of  Character  are  well  taken  care  of.  There 
is  a  certain  weakness  in  the  demonstration  of  the  Facts  re- 
garding the  forged  notes,  but  the  truth  of  this  part  of  the 
Action  in  detail  was  not  absolutely  needed.  Hawksley  is 
such  an  infamous  scoundrel,  so  typical  of  a  class,  that  we 
cannot  doubt  anything  against  him.  Hawksley's  conduct 
and  his  own  tacit  admission  as  to  the  forged  bills  is  suffi- 
cient in  the  scene  in  the  second  act.  The  case  did  not  turn 
upon  any  further  proof  than  is  given  whether  Hawksley  had 
forged  the  bills  or  not,  but  in  Mildmay's  possession  of  them 
we  know  now  what  it  was  that  Mildmay  had  in  hand  with 
Gimlet.  There  are  many  minor  Facts  in  this  play  which  it 
is  convenient  for  the  author  to  make  visible  proof  of.  When 
Hawksley  says  that  he  will  not  need  to  climb  the  garden 
wall,  but  will  use  the  door,  and  Emily  asks  who  would  open 
it,  Hawksley  produces  a  key.  That  a  savage  mastiff  has 
been  presented  to  Emily  by  Hawksley  and  that  he  would 
not  bite  his  former  master  is  not  of  enough  importance  to 
require  further  proof  than  the  statement.  One  would  be 
Fact-mad  to  provide  a  glimpse  of  the  dog  or  to  have  him 
assert  his  existence  by  a  bark  or  to  have  him  seen  respond- 
ing to  the  call  and  touch  of  his  former  master.  That  the  bolt 
has  been  removed  from  the  glass  door  of  the  conservatory 
is  proved  objectively.  It  wias  so  convenient  to  prove  the 
Fact  that  to  have  omitted  the  proof  would  have  impaired 
the  gact.  J  The  Fact  that  Hawksley  was  a  coward  because 
he  wished  to  fight  Mildmay  with  pistols  when  he  knew  that 
Mildmay  was  not  expert  in  their  use  is  perhaps  unduly 
insisted  on.  However,  the  real  Fact  of  importance  was  to 
prove  to  those  present  in  the  room  that  Hawksley  had  rea- 
son to  wish  to  kill  him  without  taking  chances. 
There  is  something  very  artificial  in  the  scene,  at  best,  a 


326  ANAI.YSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.S 

scoundrel  offering  to  kill  a  man  in  his  own  house  by  means 
of  an  unequal  duel.  But  the  play  is  about  at  an  end  at  this 
po^nt,  and  the  mechanism  may  be  tolerated. 
^^''K  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts"  is  no  more  re- 
Jmarkable  in  any  other  respect  than  in  the  impression  it 
gives  that  everything  in  it  is  Fact.  And  yet  it  is  full  of  Con- 
ditions Precedent  and  what  might  easily  have  fallen  into  the 
form  of  Story.  It  exemplifies  in  a  remarkable  degree  what 
and  how  much  we  will  believe  and  accept  as  Fact  when  it 
is  conveyed  under  emotion,  when  no  circumstance  points  to 
incredibility,  and  when  dramatic  requirements  have  been 
followed.  Look  at  the  detail  of  Facts  in  the  first  scene.  If 
Tapwell  had  made  an  issue  of  Wellborn's  statement  that  he 
had  lent  him  the  money  with  which  to  buy  the  inn,  and  if 
proof  were  material,  we  would  not  accept  the  Facts  as  they 
now  are.  They  are  brought  out  in  such  a  way,  however, 
that  they  are  proved  incidentally  by  more  than  mere  state- 
ment. We  see  that  Tapwell  is  exactly  the  kind  of  person  to 
be  so  ungrateful.  After  we  once  hear  Wellborn  speak  and 
see  that  he  has  been  a  gentleman  we  accept  his  present  con- 
dition as  proof  of  what  Tapwell  describes  as  his  career.  He 
has  spent  his  patrimony  in  dissipation  and  but  a  moment 
ago  he  was  asking  for  drink.  We  have  no  reason  to  doubt 
the  Facts  set  forth  in  the  talk  between  Wellborn  and  All- 
worth.  We  do  accept  them  provisionally  and  without  re- 
serve, but  many  of  these  Facts  are  yet  to  be  proved.  They 
are  too  important  not  to  be  shown  visually,  and  it  is  a  part 
of  the  Action  that  they  should  be  so  shown.  We  expect 
them  to  be  shown,  and  that  is  one  reason  that  we  accept 
them.  Other  Facts  we  see  as  the  Action  is  developed.  It  is 
a  Fact  that  Wellborn  determines  to  redeem  himself  because 
he  has  suffered  such  humiliation  at  the  hands  of  the  un- 
grateful former  servant.  He  has  reached  the  lowest  step  in 
his  downward  career,  and  realizes  that  he  is  friendless.  We 
would  have  believed  him  if  we  had  seen  him  turning  from 
the  door  of  the  inn  and  heard  him  tell  of  the  refusal  of  drink, 
but  the  fact  would  not  have  served  so  well  as  it  does  now. 


I^ACTS  327 

It  would  have  been  only  a  part  of  the  Fact.  Other  Facts 
had  to  be  brought  out  in  connection  with  that  Fact.  If  we 
had  not  seen  the  Facts  of  Wellborn's  desperate  condition 
the  result  of  his  reckless  expenditures,  the  Facts  of  the 
scene  with  the  creditors  later  on  would  have  lost  much  of 
its  force.  We  would  perhaps  have  accepted  the  Facts,  but 
they  would  have  been  less  vivid.  This  play  is  full  to  over- 
flowing with  Facts,  and  in  innumerable  instances  the  proof 
of  them  is  wholly  circumstantial.  They  require  no  other 
proof.  That  Sir  Giles  practiced  fraud  in  obtaining 
the  deed  is  not  demonstrated  in  detail,  and,  indeed, 
if  absolute  demonstration  were  needed  in  the  play, 
the  Action  would  have  to  be  made  equivalent  to 
the  proceedings  in  a  court  of  law.  Property,  at 
that  time,  was  held  by  the  possession  of  deeds,  but  no  doubt 
then,  as  now.  Wellborn  might  have  recovered  his  property 
in  a  suit  in  equity ;  but  the  play  was  not  about  that ;  the  es- 
sential thing  in  the  Action  is  that  Sir  Giles  overreaches  him- 
self and  dies  in  an  access  of  madness.  We  may  assume  that 
the  property  reverts  to  Wellborn.  It  really  does  not  matter 
whether  it  does  or  not.  The  whole  business  of  the  razed 
deed  is  in  the  nature  of  a  coup  de  theatre.  It  is  proved  by 
the  objective  exhibition  of  the  parchment  that  the  deed  has 
been  erased.  The  circumstances  make  us  believe  that  Mar- 
rail  has  executed  his  revenge  on  Sir  Giles  in  this  way.  Mar- 
rail,  in  fact,  explains  his  own  motives  in  asking  for  a  reward. 
Marrall  was  Sir  Giles's  confidential  man.  Massinger  ar- 
rayed Fact  after  Fact  and  fortified  them  all  with  circum- 
stances and  motive.  Cause  and  Effect.    / 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


THE  NECESSARY  AND  THE  UNNECESSARY. 

What  is  Necessary  and  what  is  Unnecessary  applies  to 
every  part  and  particle  of  a  play.    Your  whole  play  may  be 
Unnecessary,  for  that  matter.    [Even  after  you  have  the 
structure  of  your  play,   (which  depends  on  working  out 
your  problem  after  the  manner  already  pointed  out),   in 
which  you  encountered  occasion  for  your  judgment  as  to 
what  is  essential  or  immaterial,  until  your  very  last  line  is 
written  you  will  not  be  free  from  the  need  of  being  always 
on  the  enquiry  as  to  whether  this  or  that  detail  is  Necessary 
or  Unnecessary,  or  as  to  whether  you  have  all  the  essential 
things  and  do  not  have  to  introduce  something  that  has 
been  omitted.    Play  writing  is  a  process  of  thought.     Bear 
that  in  mind  always.    In  certain  Scenes  and  Dialogue,  it  is 
always  well  to  have  the  enquiry  at  hand: — "What  of  it?" — 
This  applies  to  Words,  sentences,  ideas,  Facts,  happenings, 
everything.     "What  difference  does  it  make?" — for  every- 
thing in  a  play  must  have  a  significance  and  bear  some  rela- 
tion to  matters  in  hand.     This  includes  the  superfluous. 
Suppose  a  ship  is  referred  to  in  the  course  of  the  Action  of 
a  play,  the  ship  being  very  important  to  the  Action ;  would 
you  stop  to  describe  its  spars  and  furnish  all  the  Details 
about  it?     It  might  be  Necessary  to  speak  of  its  speed  if 
that  has  a  bearing  on  the  Action,  but  not  otherwise.    You 
would  not  bring  in  Unnecessary  and  detailed  description. 
Of  course  not;  but  in  amateur  plays  the  Unnecessary  and 
superfluous    characterize    them.      In   the    present   analytic 
part  of  our  work  it  is  enough,  and  essential  and  Necessary 
for  you,  to  observe  the  Necessary  things  in  the  plays  in 
hand,  why  they  are  used,  for  what  purpose,  and  how.  j  In 
the  constructive  part  of  your  work  you  will  have  to  take  up 
arms  against  a  sea  of  unnecessary  things  that  will  surge 
in  on  you.  rlThe  structural  parts  of  a  play  must  be  consist- 


THE    NECESSARY   AND    THE    UNNECESSARY  329 

ent,  logical  and  dramatic,  and  soon  become  fixed.  When 
we  get  to  the  Action  of  the  moment  the  manner  of  doing 
things  becomes  less  absolute,  for  the  fixed  thing  may  often 
be  accomplished  in  more  ways  than  one.  To  express  My- 
ron's servitude  it  was  not  absolutely  necessary  to  represent 
him  with  a  fagot  of  wood  in  his  armsj  but  to  show  his  ser- 
vitude in  some  manner  was  Necessary.  \ 

Everything  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  was  necessary 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  author.  In  this  respect  there 
is  great  liberality.  With  this  liberty  the  individuality  of 
the  dramatist  is  safeguarded.  In  those  things  that  are  tech- 
nically Necessary  he  has  no  choice  except  as  to  means ;  but 
he  is  not  hampered  in  making  use  of  this  principle  or  Meth- 
od of  the  Necessary  and  the  Unnecessary,  for  it  is  an  imple- 
ment of  the  craftsman.  To  provide  all  that  is  Necessary 
and  to  guard  against  all  that  is  Unnecessary  reaches  to 
every  part  of  the  play.  The  play  could  be  done,  and  often  is 
done,  in  omitting  the  first  set  scene  entirely  and  beginning 
with  the  meeting  and  wish  for  a  plan  to  humble  Pauline  be- 
tween Beauseant  and  Glavis,  but  it  can  only  proceed  from 
the  sordid  purpose  of  the  manager  to  save  scenery  or  ex- 
pense. Of  course  there  are  many  things  that  are  Necessary 
to  the  Action,  but  not  to  the  Plot  proper.  It  is  not  Neces- 
sary to  the  Plot  that  Glavis  should  look  at  the  bill  of  fare  at 
the  Inn,  but  it  is  Necessary  to  his  Character  and,  techni- 
cally, to  the  gradation  of  the  scene.  There  are  differences 
between  the  fixed  essence  of  a  play  and  the  accidental  and 
incidental.  But  everything  must  be  essential,  in  its  way, 
and  Necessary,  absolutely  or  incidentally.  Some  of  the  lines 
are  not  absolutely  Necessary.  It  was  Necessary,  at  the  very 
outset,  to  make  Melnotte  a  peasant  in  order  to  humiliate  the 
pride  of  Pauline,  and  it  was  Necessary  NOT  to  make  her  an 
aristocrat,  for,  otherwise,  it  would  have  been  a  play  involv- 
ing something  wholly  different  in  treatment  and  purpose. 
It  was  not  Necessary  that  the  widow  should  appear  in  the 
last  act.  It  was  not  Necessary. to  go  into  the  Details  of  the 
iDankruptcy  of  Deschappelles,/  No  doubt  it  was  Macready 


330  ANAIvYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

who  made  the  amount  of  the  debt  of  Deschappelles  definite, 
in  a  way ;  Damas  shows  the  paper :  "This  is  the  schedule — 
this  the  total — ",  while  Melnotte  "gives  pocket-book"  and 
outbids  "yon  sordid  huckster  for  the  precious  jewel." 
"There  is  the  sum  twice  told."  It  is  theatric,  and  the  fat 
wallet  is  almost  worn  out  for  dramatic  use,  but  it  illustrates 
soundness  of  theory,  and  practice  Objectivity  and  Fact. 
As  a  business  proposition  the  Notary  would  not  have  ac- 
cepted Morier's  note  of  hand;  besides,  the  Action  would 
have  fallen  into  Story. 

Of  course,  we  begin  to  determine  the  essential  things  the 
very  moment  we  attempt  the  structure  of  a  play,  beginning 
with  the  Proposition.  The  Plot,  in  particular,  has  its  neces- 
sity and  its  absolute  requirements.  It  is  not  to  such  obvious 
things  that  we  are  to  give  our  attention  in  making  this 
analysis.  It  would  be  profitable  to  study  the  Necessities  of 
Plot  and  the  like  also,  but  we  wish  to  confine  the  present 
study  of  "Camille"  to  specific  Necessities  of  a  smaller  kind 
which  are  often  overlooked.  The  first  striking  example  of  a 
Necessity  is  the  technical  Necessity  of  introducing  Nichette 
at  the  opening  of  the  play.  It  would  have  been  very  awk- 
ward to  place  her  anywhere  else.  Apparently  there  is  no 
room  for  her  on  and  after  the  arrival  of  the  guests  for  the 
supper.  To  have  got  her  in  after  the  first  act  would  have  in- 
terrupted the  progress  of  the  Action;  consequently,  she  is 
got  in  and  disposed  of,  having  served  also  the  purpose  of 
the  author  in  bringing  about  the  conversation  between  Na-^j 
nine  and  Varville  that  sets  forth  the  Conditions  Precedent^ 
Fxcept  for  the  contrast  in  the  Epistles,  and  the  Necessity  of 
making  Nichette  a  former  friend  of  Camille  it  would  not 
have  been  Necessary  to  bring  out  the  fact  that  she  has  also 
been  an  embroideress.  No  precise  details  are  given  of  Ca- 
mille's  family.  \^t  was  Necessary  for  Camille  to  make  the 
sacrifice,  for  it  was  required  by  the  Proposition  itself.  It 
had  to  be  made  visible  and  a  fact,  an  Objective  Fact.  A 
great  deal  depends  upon  the  author's  point  of  view  as  to 
what  he  considers  necessary.    Thus,  from  the  French  point 


THIS    Ni:CESSARY   AND    THIS    UNNECESSARY  33I 

of  view,  the  love  and  veneration  of  a  son  for  a  mother  is  a 
point  that  is  exceedingly  touching.  That  Armand  should 
dispose  of  property  coming  as  an  inheritance  from  his  moth- 
er in  order  to  live  with  Camille  is  a  strong  case  against  him. 
The  father  urges  it  in  his  talk  w"ith  Camille.  In  discussing 
Episode  we  show  that  it  was  Necessary  to  have  the 
apparently  aimless  talk  from  Camille's  companions  at  the 
Supper.  In  that  way,  the  yellow  cab  was  Necessary,  not  in 
itself,  but  something  of  the  kind  was,  in  order  to  show  the 
frivolity  of  these  people.  ^ 

The  most  striking  point  i*fc"Still  Waters  Run  Deep''  in  the 
matter  of  what  Was  considered  Unnecessary  by  Taylor  is 
that  he  did  not  at  once  reveal  in  precise  terms  Mildmay's 
means  of  defeating  Hawksley  with  the  forged  notes.  We 
know  that  it  is  something,  but  do  not  learn  until  the  prin- 
cipal scene,  in  the  second  act,  exactly  what  it  is.  Taylor 
considered  it  entirely  Unnecessary  to  impart  the  information 
that  Mildmay  had  been  in  the  counting  house  when  the  bills 
were  presented.  Other  things  were  more  important  to  the 
development  of  the  particular  Action  than  to  give  us  details 
of  that  transaction.  It  would  have  involved  too  much  com- 
plication. The  chase  would  have  led  too  far  afield.  The 
play  would  have  been  about  it  and  not  about  Mildmay's  loss 
of  authority  in  his  household.  He  did  not  think  it  Neces- 
sary to  bring  out  Gimlet's  personality  in  the  first  act.  He 
sought  to  confine  the  play  within  certain  limits.  He  found  it 
Necessary  to  have  a  second  bill  in  order  to  have  the  third 
act.  You  will  observe  that  Potter  is  kept  in  ignorance  of  ex- 
actly what  has  been  done  by  Mildmay.  It  is  not  Necessary, 
for  that  matter,  to  restore  Mildmay's  influence  over  Potter, 
for  he  was  wholly  under  the  influence  of  his  sister.  We  may 
well  imagine  that  the  Facts  will  reach  him  eventually,  and 
it  is  a  fine  stroke  to  leave  it  as  it  is.  Potter  remaining  at  the 
very  close  a  doddering,  pliant,  old  easygoing,  retired  man  of 
business.  "John  Mildmay,"  says  Potter,  *T  ask  your  par- 
don— Jane  and  Emily  say  I  ought;  though  what  I've  done, 
or  what  there  is  to  ask  pardon  for—".    Mildmay's  reply  is 


332  ANALYSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.E 

"perhaps  you  will  learn  in  time."^  In  the  exercise  on  Char- 
acter in  the  play  we  call  attention  to  some  of  the  Necessities 
of  the  case  there.  The  Necessities  of  the  Plot  belong  to  a 
distinct  part  of  our  investigation.'  We  show  in  the  exercise 
on  Dialogue  how  many  Unnecessary  things  were  avoided. 
The  mathematical  computations  of  Hawksley  in  the  second 
act  were  thought  Necessary  from  Taylor's  point  of  view. 
Absolutely  Necessary  they  were  not.  / 

rTThe  question  as  to  the  Necessary  or  the  Unnecessary  ap- 
(  plies  to  every  part  of  a  play,  is  applicable  to  every  principle, 
and  is,  consequently,  in  its  exercise,  more  of  a  method  than 
a  distinct  principle.  We  shall  call  attention  only  to  a  few 
striking  examples  of  the  operation  of  Massinger's  mind  in 
this  particular.  Undoubtedly  questions  as  to  the  use,  how 
and  where,  of  certain  things  arose  and  he  had  to  decide 
them.  It  was  not  an  accident  that  gave  us  the  first  know- 
ledge, in  the  second  act,  that  it  was  Sir  Giles,  through  Mar- 
rail,  that  caused  Tapwell  to  refuse  further  credit  to  Well- 
born. It  was  not  Necessary  for  the  audience  to  know  it  at 
the  time.  In  the  same  scene  it  was  not  Necessary  for  the 
audience  to  know  that  Tapwell  was  a  receiver  of  stolen 
goods.  In  both  cases  the  knowledge  would  have  been  harm- 
ful. In  the  matter  of  the  Necessary,  the  Proposition  and 
the  Plot  are  the  most  exacting,  perhaps.  There  must  be 
Cause  and  Effect  and  Sequence.  There  must  be  Action. 
The  Necessary  things,  those  that  are  absolutely  Necessary, 
the  trained  mind  easily  determines.  The  untrained  mind  is 
constantly  doing  the  Unnecessary  things ;  whereas  the  fine- 
ness of  the  art  is  best  proved  by  the  rejection  of  Unneces- 
sary things.  The  drama  is  the  most  economical  of  arts.  The 
completion  of  a  play  rests  with  the  words ;  after  everything 
else  is  done  they  must  be  supplied.  This  is  a  play  in  which 
the  medium  of  words  is  relied  upon  to  a  considerable  extent, 
as  is  the  case  with  all  dramas  in  verse,  and  yet  its  compact- 
ness is  nowhere  more  evident  than  in  its  words.  Every  one 
counts.    There  is  an  excess  of  words  now  and  then  in  the 


THH    NECESSARY   AND    THE    UNNECESSARY  333 

original  play,  but  the  stage  version  is  remarkably  free  from 
redundancy.  In  the  actual  writing  of  a  play  the  question  of 
what  is  Necessary  comes  up  with  constant  frequency  with 
reference  to  Preparation.  "I  must  go  back  and  do  so  and 
so,"  the  dramatist  finds  himself  saying  to  himself.  "This 
scene  is  too  long.  That  one  is  too  short."  It  was  not  Ne- 
cessary to  develop  Margaret  more  than  she  is  developed. 
A  good  deal  depends  upon  the  point  of  view  of  the  author 
as  to  what  is  Necessary.  The  episode  of  paying  off  the  cre- 
ditors by  Wellborn  is  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  Plot, 
but  there  is  a  great  latitude  permissable  to  the  author  in 
the  Action.  The  Episode  is  certainly  not  Unnecessary,  eith- 
er absolutely  or  relatively.  It  proves  the  fact  that  Sir  Giles 
has  supplied  him  with  money.  This  connects  it  very  close- 
ly with  the  main  Action.  The  Vintner  and  the  other  credi- 
tors are  not  Necessary  to  the  Plot,  but  they  are  surely  not 
Unnecessary  to  the  Episode.  Creditors  of  some  de- 
scription, other  than  Tapwell  and  Froth,  were  absolutely 
Necessary,  for  an  Episode  devoted  solely  to  paying  off  Tap- 
well  and  Froth  in  their  own  coin  would  have  been  absurd. 
Inasmuch  as  they  get  nothing,  not  a  penny  of  the  money 
supplied  by  Sir  Giles,  the  Vintner  and  others  were  abso- 
lutely Necessary.  Lady  Downfallen  and  the  Maids  were 
Necessary  to  the  purposes  of  Massinger.  The  Necessity  of 
making  Greedy  a  comedy  character  arose  from  the  nature 
of  the  case  and  not  from  any  demand  of  the  Plot  proper. 
The  modern  manager  insists  upon  comedy  at  all  hazards. 
It  is  a  very  reasonable  demand  from  a  business  point  of 
view.  In  this  case  the  comic  relief  was  Necessary.  To 
have  had  both  Marrall  and  Greedy  sombre  instruments  of  a 
cruel  old  cormorant  would  have  made  the  play  unneces- 
sarily disagreeable.  But  comedy  which  seems  necessary 
from  a  business  point  of  view  must  be  made  Necessary 
from  a  technical  point  of  view.  Greedy  pays  his  way  all  the 
time,  never  disturbs  the  Action  of  the  Plot,  and  aids  the  Ac- 
tion of  the  scenes.    The  tumult  raised  by  the  attempt  to 


334  ANALYSIS   0^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI,^ 

eject  Wellborn  wias  Necessary  to  bring  on  Lady  Allworth. 
If  we  go  to  all  such  little  Causes  and  Effects  we  see  the  ne- 
cessities of  the  Technique.  Certainly  she  could  have  enter- 
ed without  having  heard  the  noise  of  the  quarrel.  Thus 
throughout  a  play  we  must  do  things  in  a  certain  way,  for 
technical  reasons  which  are  not  inconsistent  with  nature. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


/^^  CHARACTER. 

)  "^^You  will  observe  that  the  only  warrant  for  the  existence 
of  any  character  in  a  play  is  his  employment  in  the  Action 
with  reference  to  what  is  desired  to  be  accomplished.  He  "^ 
does  not  exist  in  real  life;  consequently,  his  opinions  onj 
any  subject  not  essential  to  the  Action  have  no  value.  He 
is  employed  for  certain  functions,  just  as  you  employ  ser- 
vants in  a  household.  K  Characters  in  a  play  can  only  exist 
with  reference  to  the  Action,  and  Character  can  be  brought 
out  in  no  other  way  than  by  throwing  people  into  given  re- 
lations. Mere  Character  is  nothing,  pile  it  on  as  you  may^ 
A  Character  is  subject  to  all  the  principles.  Two  charac- 
ters should  not  be  employed  for  what  one  can  do,  for  that 
would  be  a  form  of  Disunity  and  opposed  to  the  natural  ' 
economy  of  the  art.  Unity  has  also  to  be  observed  in  the 
conduct  of  the  character  itself.  The  larger  details  of  char- 
acter are  arrived  at  in  the  Plot,  other  details  come  with  the 
part  borne  in  the  scene,  and  innumerable  details  are  ef-  f\ 
fected  incidentally,  and  brought  out  still^urther  by  the 
actor.  Mere  Character,  then,  is  nothing.  Real  Character, 
^of  course,  comes  from  your  full  knowledge  of  the  Character 
yt>u^wish  to  portray;  Technique  will  tell  you  only  how  to 
manage  it.  The  Plot  grows  out  of  Character,  but  the  Plot 
must  be  fixed  before  any  use  can  be  made  of  Character^ 
This  may  sound  paradoxical,  and  will  be  understood  when 
you  reach  Constructive  work,  where  you  will  also  see  how 
an  author  may  often  find  it  necessary  to  create  a  new 
character,  after  he  has  made  some  progress  in  the  construc- 
tion of  his  play,  in  order  to  overcome  some  technical  diffi- 
culty. "How  am  I  to  show  that  Parthenia  is  absolutely 
heart  whole  and  fancy  free?"  must  have  asked  himself  the 
author  of  "Ingomar."  "She  must  have  a  suitor,  a  per- 
son so  repugnant  as  to  leave  no  doubt  in  the  matter,  an 


336  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPLE 

old  man,  a  miser,  the  character  to  be  developed  according 
to  the  opportunities  of  the  play.'*  The  author  did  not  con- 
ceive Polydor  independent  of  the  Action  before  he  began 
the  process  of  thinking  out  the  play  and  its  Action,  r  You 
will  see,  then,  that  all  Characters  have  their  uses.  Look  into 
the  play  and  see  if  you  can  find  a  useless  Character.  Per- 
haps you  may,  or  one  seemingly  so.  Ask  him  searchingly 
what  he  is  doing  there,  and  he  will  respond  clearly.  It  is 
all  right  to  have  incidental  Characters  which  belong  rather 
to  a  scene  or  to  some  other  Character.     In  the  older  days 

rcnearly  every  character  had  something  to  do  with  the  Plot, — 
to  too  great  a  degree, — but  the  practice  was  sound  enough 
for  that  kind  of  play.  But  he  must  have  something  to  do 
with  the  Action,  and  so.  Directly  or  Indirectly,  belong  to 
the  Plot.  The  only  time  a  character  can  do  exactly  as  he 
pleases  is  during  the  period  in  which  you  are  ruminating 
on  your  material,  before  you  have  fixed  Plot  and  Scenes. 
When  you  get  him  to  the  scene  he  must  confine  himself  to 
business,  and  he  must  talk  and  feel  to  the  purpose  on  the  lines 
already  prescribed  by  the  mechanism.  And  he  will  have  plenty 
of  freedom,  and  will  do  and  say  all  that  he  wants  to. 
He  can  do  and  say  exactly  as  he  pleases  because 
the  author  has  so  arranged  it.  The  conventional  writer 
will  select  his  characters  according  to  "heavy,"  "low  com- 
edy," &c.    It  is  best  to  get  them  from  your  Material  first; 

j  see  if  they  exist  in  life  first.>  Your  material  and  purpose  de- 
termine everything ;' such  as  the  number  required,  although 
the  changing  demands  of  the  hour  may  ask  you  to  do  things 
not  absolutely  required  by  the  Material  and  real  Plot,  as, 
for  instance,  where  formerly,  many  of  our  best  plays  had 
not  more  than  two  female  characters,  the  managers  now  de- 
mand femininity  in  abundance.  For  the  present,  confine 
the  exercise  to  finding  out  the  functions  of  each  character 
in  the  play,  why  introduced,  &c.  Remember  that  the  au- 
thor, in  each  case,  must  have  rejected  dozens  of  characters, 
possible  characters,  in  the  same  environment.  Why  did 
he  select  these  and  not  others  ? 


CHARACTER  337 

The  characters  of  a  play  as  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  be- 
long either  to  the  main  Plot  or  are  incidental  to  scenes  that 
belong  to  the  Plot  or  to  the  Action.  The  main  characters 
are  in  mind  all  the  time,  whether  present  or  absent.  The 
servants  at  the  inn  belong  only  to  the  inn  scenes,  Caspar 
only  to  one  scene.  The  officers  in  the  last  act  are  there 
merely  for  the  purposes  of  a  scene  or  so.  We  expect  noth- 
ing more  from  them.  They  have  exercised  their  functions. 
They  belong  to  the  Action,  not  exactly  to  the  Plot.  And 
even  the  main  characters  of  the  Plot  are  not  always  plot- 
ting, but,  in  turn,  may  belong  merely  to  the  Action.  This 
is  the  case  in  the  jewel  scene.  Observe  that  the  characters 
do  not  do  as  they  plea^se^  The;^are  governed  by  the  conye- 
niences  of  the  play,  but_are.always  made  to  art  (-fvngigtpnt.1y 
with  their  characters-and-the  dixu^^  They  are  sub-   '"^ 

ject  to  the  laws  of  thedraim_iust_a^s_m 
^^tJE^^U^Llh^'^-^^^  ^^  ^^'^^  ^^^^—  To  note  here  the  innumer- 
able little  expressions  of  character  is  not  feasible,  but  it  may 
be  pointed  out  that  the  conditions  of  the  Action_and  the 
scenes  alone  make  the  particular  character  possible,  and 
that  ifTshever  mere  character  for  itself;  that  is  impossible. 

For  the  present,  we  are  studying  Characters  as  they  exist 
in  the  play  and,  as  well  as  we  may,  the  process  by  which 
they  are  created.  We  see  that  these  Characters  are  needed 
and  used  for  certain  distinct  purposes.  The  father  of  Pau-  A ' 
line  is  required  only  for  certain  scenes,  and  is  very  subor- 
dinate, for  only  at  the  close  of  the  play  does  anything  con- 
nected with  the  Plot  demand  him.  Finally,  his  bankruptcy 
affords  a  turn  in  the  Action.  Clavis  is  needed  technically 
for  scenes  of  Dialogue  with  Beauseant,  the  Landlord  for 
a  specific  purpose,  and  so  the  officers  in  the  last  act.  Jj^ll 
the  characters  are  necessary  either  for  the  Plot  or  the  Ac-  ^ 
tion.    I 

The  process  of  the  mind  in  providing  the  Characters  of  a 
play  is  not  always  the  same,  but  it  is  very  much  as  de- 
scribed here  or  in  other  chapters.  A  not  uncommon  way  is  to 
have  the  Characters  first  and  provide  a  Plot  for  them.  This  is 


I 


338  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPLE 

invariably  the  method  of  the  empirics  and  conventionalists. 
Every  play  is  not  written  in  the  same  way,  because  the  state 
of  the  material  is  not  always  the  same.  Your  Material  may 
furnish  you  the  Characters,  in  the  main,  ready  made.  In 
that  case,  it  will  be  some  other  element  of  the  play  that  will 
require  your  invention.  Whatever  the  methods,  the  result 
is  always  governed  by  Technique.  It  comes  to  the  same 
thing.  When  the  need  of  a  particular  Character  will  pre- 
sent itself  to  you  depends  upon  circumstances.  We  must 
understand  playwriting  to  determine.  Thus,  Nichette  and 
Gustave  probably  came  to  Dumas  after  he  had  gone  some 
distance  in  the  collecting  and  the  imagining  of  the  Material 
for  his  play.  They  may  have  had  their  birth  from  various 
sources.  We  see  the  uses  made  of  them,  and  analysis  could 
undoubtedly  trace  the  operations  of  the  mind  of  the  drama- 
tist. You  would  inevitably,  in  some  of  your  conjectures, 
fix  upon  the  point  of  their  first  conception.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  need  of  contrasting  a  happy  marriage  and  undisturbed 
love  with  the  hapless  fate  of  Camille.  The  idea  was  general 
at  first.  No  Gustave,  no  Nichette.  Dumas  could  have  had  a 
happy  marriage  in  her  own  particular  set  of  careless  roys- 
ters.  But  that  would  not  do.  The  other  woman  must  not 
participate  in  her  life  of  pleasure.  Make  her  a  working 
girl.  In  what  way  shall  they  be  brought  together?  Let 
Camille  herself  have  been  a  working  girl  also.  Perhaps  the 
idea  of  having  this  a  part  of  Camille's  history  had  not  oc- 
curred to  Dumas  before.  Thus,  in  creating  one  Character 
another,  even  the  principal  one,  has  to  be  modified.  It  was 
not  at  once  determined  that  the  functions  of  these  two  new 
characters  should  be  episodic  only.  That  required  reason- 
ing and  analysis.  The  frivolous  ones  of  Camille's  set  came 
first  from  the  general  necessities,  from  the  philosophy  and 
reasoning  of  the  case.  Camille  and  Armand  were  at  hand 
from  the  beginning.  The  germinal  idea  of  the  play,  the 
Proposition,  which  in  this  case  came  at  once,  required  a 
sacrifice  on  the  part  of  Camille.  How  was  it  to  be  brought 
about?    Some  powerful  force  was  needed.    The  idea  of  the 


CHARACTER  339^ 

father  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  contemplation  of  the 
theme  at  first.  He  was  not  necessary  to  the  infatuation  of 
Armand  for  Camille.  What  right  had  he  to  intrude  on  the 
author's  mind  before  he  was  wanted?  Prudence  may  have 
come  from  the  technical  necessity  of  having  the  stranger 
introduced  and  brought  to  her  house.  He  was  not  of  the 
set,  not  a  reveller.  After  a  character  is  obtained  for  one  es-  . 
tential  service,  the  author  consults  every  other  possible  use  ^ 
to  which  he  can  put  him.  Prudence  must  not  be  a  mere 
mechanical  puppet.  She  must  have  some  traits  and  charac- 
teristics which  will  give  her  individuality.  The  supper  Epi- 
sode may  have  been  decided  on.  Where  can  Prudence  be 
used  incidentally?  At  the  supper,  of  course.  Her  greed, 
for  food  put  her  in  that  scene,  her  greed  for  money  put  her 
in  the  last  act.  The  last  act  required  that  Camille  be  not 
wholly  abandoned  by  her  former  companions.  Some  one 
was  needed  to  minister  to  her  as  she  lay  dying.  Shall  it  be 
Gustave?  No;  to  use  him  would  disturb  the  unity  of  im- 
pression desired  as  to  him  and  Nichette.  He  could  have 
been  used,  certainly.  But  it  was  not  a  matter  of  chance  and 
capricious  "imagination"  with  Dumas.  He  exercised  his 
reason.  Gaston  was  light  hearted  and  good  of  spirit,  wit- 
ness his  song,  his  grotesque  dancing,  his  caprisoning  him- 
self, in  the  original  play,  in  a  woman's  bonnet.  It  is  Gaston 
only  that  does  this.  Here  we  have  contrast.  It  is  delight- 
ful to  find  him  so  sympathetic  and  generous.  He  is  also  to 
lead  a  better  life.  Gustave  was  saved  from  the  beginning. 
These  Characters  were  not  accidents,  they  served  purposes 
of  the  Action.  It  was  at  Olimpe's  that  the  scene  of  the 
fourth  act  was  to  be  laid.  There  is  use  for  them  all.  As 
said,  Camille,  Armand  and  Varville  were  the  first  born.         _j 

There  are  books  written  on  the  characters  in  Shakespere. 
Years  are  wasted  in  this  way  in  the  study  of  a  few  plays  at 
the  Universities.  That  kind  of  analysis  is  not  to  the  pur- 
pose in  the  study  of  technical  principles.  At  the  same  time, 
if  we  wanted  to  go  over  the  same  ground  covered  by  Tay- 
lor, we  would  have  to  know  these  characters  or  make  a 


340  ANALYSIS   OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

Study  of  them  from  life.  'Knowi  your  Characters.  Taylor 
got  his  from  a  novel  by  Bernard  in  French,  but  he  adapted 
them  to  English  realities.''|  While  it  is  distinctly  a  Character 
play,  he  evidently  built  it  from  the  great  scene  in  the  second 
act.  There  was  the  strongest  situation  for  bringing  out  the 
coolness,  courage  and  sagacity  of  Mildmay.  There  was  the 
climax  of  the  proverb  that  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep."  For 
Taylor's  purposes  in  the  play  the  Characters  had  to  have 
certain  precise  limitations.  The  slightest  variation  would 
have  brought  confusion  into  it.  If  Emily  had  been  passion- 
ate and  really  in  love  with  Hawksley,  instead  of  being 
merely  sentimental  and  silly,  the  Action  would  have  taken 
a  different  turn  entirely,  and  different  things  would  have 
happened.  We  have  already  pointed  out  that  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold  had  to  be  the  aunt  and  not  the  mother-in-law.  If  Pot- 
ter had  been  given  more  decision  of  character  the  present 
play  would  have  been  impossible.  If  Hawksley  had  not 
been  such  a  consummate  scoundrel  in  his  attitude  toward 
women  in  a  moral  sense  the  Action  would  have  had  to  turn 
on  the  financial  transactions  exclusively,  and  it  would 
have  been  difficult  indeed  to  dislodge  the  attractive  adven- 
turer from  the  admiration  and  confidence  of  the  women.  It 
would  have  been  another  play  entirely,  v  Sometimes  we 
have  to  get  a  Plot  for  the  Characters,  and,  again,  we  often 
have  to  make  the  Characters  conform  to  the  Plot.  This  lat- 
ter method  was  probably  the  case  in  the  making  of  "Still 
Waters  Run  Deep."  Corners  had  to  be  clipped  off  with  the 
trowel  to  make  the  stones  fit.  Thus,  while  we  should  go  to 
life  for  our  Characters,  mere  life  will  no  more  serve  in  Char- 
acter than  it  will  in  Action.  Five  principal  characters  are 
sufficient  for  the  complications  necessary  to  carry  the  play 
through  three  acts.J  It  is  so  domestic  and  personal  that  al- 
though there  is  a  dinner  party  in  it  it  is  not  needed  to  give 
glimpses  of  "society."  The  introduction  of  other  characters 
even  incidentally  would  have  impaired  the  simplicity  and 
force  of  the  play,  but  the  author  and  manager  of  the  present 
day  would  be  inclined  to  have  the  stage  filled  with  "guests" 


CHARACTER  34 1 

in  the  last  act.  Stage  management  is  so  skillful  nowadays 
that  it  could  be  done  effectively  too.  It  would  not  be  better 
perhaps,  but  it  would  please  some  people. 

Endless  essays  could  be  written  on  the  character 
of  the  characters  in  a  play,  and  a  good  deal  of 
the  study  of  Shakespere  in  the  Universities  is 
wasted  in  this  wiay.  Of  course  the  dramatist  must 
make  a  certain  study  of  his  characters,  and  he  may  be- 
gin with  abstractions,  but  finally  it  is  the  practical  use  he 
—v—can  make  of  certain  traits  in  the  characters.)  Drama  is  the 
reduction  of  the  philosophy  of  life  into  concrete  dramatic 
form,  but  in  analyzing  a  play  we  need  not  concern  ourselves 
largely  with  anything  but  the  technical  side  of  the  charac- 
ters. How  did  Massinger  create  them?  in  what  order?  we 
can  only  conjecture,  but  there  is  little  doubt  that  some  of 
our  footsteps  will  fall  exactly  in  those  of  the  author  himself. 
Sir  Giles  was  a  living  character  known  to  Massinger.  So 
was  Justice  Greedy.  Indeed,  all  the  characters  are  too 
natural  to  be  mere  products  of  the  imagination.  Sir  Giles 
was  to  be  the  leading  person  in  the  play,  a  real  play,  not  a 
mere  play.  To  begin  with,  he  was  an  unconscionable 
scoundrel,  with  two  passions,  money  and  the  social  ad- 
vancement of  himself  and  family  through  his  daughter. 
Greedy  being  the  living  tool  of  the  living  man,  the  two  pro- 
totypes were  at  hand,  and  Margaret  followed.  Whom  shall 
he  direct  his  cruel  and  fraudulent  practices  against?  Some 
one  close  to  him,  his  nephew.  We  have  Wellborn.  He 
must  be  easily  defrauded,  else  the  play  will  be  about  a  mo- 
ney transaction,  and  that  is  not  the  purpose  of  the  play  at 
all.  This  relative  and  victim  must  be  reduced  to  the  most 
abject  want.  He  shall  be  a  spendthrift;  he  must  finally  re- 
deem himself  and  regain  the  lands  of  which  he  has  been  de- 
prived, but  the  open  struggle  must  not  be  over  that  parti- 
cular thing.  Sir  Giles  must  overreach  himself,  for  it  is  the 
only  way,  without  too  much  complication,  to  defeat  him  in 
a  dramatic  action  of  reasonable  length  and  compactness. 
Wellborn  cannot  make  a  direct  fight  against  this  powerful 


342  ANAI.YSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPIvE: 

kinsman.  Overreach  must  be  duped;  it  can  be  done  in  no 
other  way.  We  certainly  cannot  get  him  to  restore  the 
lands  in  any  direct  way ;  all  we  can  hope  for  is  to  have  him 
give  him  money  enough  to  re-establish  himself  in  the  world. 
He  will  not  do  that  except  with  a  selfish  motive.  What 
can  it  be  ?  Ah,  he  shall  expect  to  rob  somebody ;  then  Well- 
born will  pretend  to  marry  rich.  This  brings  Lady  All- 
worth  out  of  the  depths  of  Massinger's  imagination.  No 
thought  so  far  of  Lord  Lovell,  but  when  the  attack  is  to  be 
made  on  the  side  of  the  daughter,  means  must  be  found.  A 
like  deception  must  be  practiced,  for  we  cannot  have  dis- 
similar means  used,  or  we  will  have  difficulty  in  joining  the 
Action.  Lord  Lovell  being  a  necessity,  the  relations  be- 
tween him  and  Lady  AUworth  came  about  naturally.  In 
this  way,  some  of  the  characters  were  born  with  the  Propo- 
sition, others  with  the  Plot,  and  others  with  the  Action. 
Tapwell  and  Froth  were  needed  only  to  emphasize  the  low- 
est depth  of  Wellborn's  fall  and  humiliation.  Amble  and 
Furnace,  Order  and  Watchall  come  into  existence  as  the 
Action  progressed.  Characters  once  created,  the  dramatist 
makes  as  much  use  of  them  as  may  be  needed,  and  for 
many  purposes.  We  see  that  Furnace  "feeds"  Greedy  his 
lines,  as  the  expression  goes  among  actors.  Massinger  pro- 
vides situations  to  draw  out  the  characters.  There  is  a 
good  deal  of  description  of  Character,  but  everything  is 
verified.  Sir  Giles  is  as  distinct  as  a  portrait  by  Rembrandt. 
He  is  in  the  Action  or  of  it  all  the  time,   i 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


DIALOGUE,   MONOLOGUES  AND  ASIDES. 

Dialogue,  is  commonly  said  to  be  the  easiest  part  of  a 
play  to  write,  and  the  uninformed  writer  can  and  does 
write  yards  of  it  to  no  purpose.  ^But  it  is  not  Dialogue,  it\/ 
is  conversation.  IThe  true  dramatist  might,  on  occasion, 
spend  ten  times  the  time  on  one-tenth  of  the  space  that 
the  amateur  writer  does  and  he  might  have  equal  facility 
in  "writing"  Dialogue  or  thrice  the  facility.  *  The  dramatist  \  ^ 
prepares  Plot,  Sequences,  Scenes,  Action,  everything  pos-  1 
sible  or  practicable,  before  he  thinks  of  writing  Dialogue/ 
Of  course  there  is  a  certain  freedom  reserved  in  the  matter 
of  detail  during  the  composition  of  it.  It  is  made  easy  only 
by  this  means.  But  it  is  often  difficult,  as  we  shall  see 
when  we  reach  the  actual  doing  of  it.  After  a  play  is 
Divided  into  Acts  and  Scenes,  it  is  the  Dialogue  that  works 
out  each  scene.  Thus,  the  Dialogue  is  confined  to  the 
business  in  hand.  "^The  distinctive  mark  of  real  Dialogue  is  -/ 
Vthat  it  is  and  must  be  responsive.  It  is  give  and  take.  If 
you  have  a  difficulty  or  misunderstanding  with  any  one 
it  is  a  series  of  thrusts  and  parries,  is  it  not?  People  in  the 
drama  are  never  at  one — there  is  always  a  disagreement  or 
some  obstacle  which  requires  discussion.  Something  is 
always  in  solution.  The  emotions  are  alive.  ^The  fact  that 
a  character  might  be  talking  with  a  deaf  man  does  not 
disturb  the  principle,  for  the  obstacle  or  misunderstanding 
would  still  exist.  Never  close  a  sentence  so  that  the  audi- 
ence will  not  understand  or  surmise  what  its  completion 
should  be.  Merely  dividing  Dialogue  into  short  sentences 
does  not  necessarily  make  the  Dialogue  dramatic.  It  is 
true  that  a  manager,  in  glancing  at  a  manuscript  and  see- 
ing that  all  the  speeches  are  long,  uniformly  half  a  page  or 
so,  will  at  once  know  that  the  play  lacks  Action,  is  full  of 
description  and  in  every  way  undramatic.    The  old  classic 


n/ 


344  ANAI^YSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI^E; 

French  dramatist  could  indulge  in  declamation,  but  they 
were  masters  of  their  art  and  kept  up  their  Action.  In  a 
modern  prose  play  it  would  be  impossible.  If  you  do  "not 
know  what  to  have  the  characters  say  to  each  other"  it  is 
because  you  have  not  made  out  Plot  and  Scenes  before- 
hand. The  only  difficulty  that  could  arise  with  a  true  dra- 
matist at  this  point  would  be  as  to  how  to  make  them 
say  in  the  best  way  what  is  already  prearranged.  '  Dialogue 
depends  upon  the  Action  and  the  purpose  of  the  scene;  it 
does  not  stand  alone.  *  The  characters  cannot  say  what  they 
want  to — that  is — it  must  be  so  arranged  that  they  will 
want  to  say  only  certain  things.  If  you  get  them  into  a 
position  where  they  can  say  everything  and  anything,  there 
comes  your  ''easy-writing."  There  comes  your  "Oh!  I 
have  no  difficulty  in  Dialogue!"  See  if  you  can  find  any 
Dialogue  in  the  play  which  is  not  confined  to  the  object  of 
the  scene. 

The  Monologue  is  antiquated  and  the  tendency  wrong; 
the  best  writers  do  not  use  it  at  all.  It  is  artificial, 
but  not  altogether  contrary  to  dramatic  principle.  That  is 
to  say,  the  Action  can  be  carried  forward  by  means  of  it, 
but  we  get  closer  to  nature  by  avoiding  itj  It  is  a  pitfall 
for  the  beginner,  for  it  is  an  easy  refuge,  a  clumsy  method, 
and  the  artistic  necessity  for  it  must  be  strong  for  a  capa- 
ble playwright  to  use  it.  It  is  a  short  cut  and  should  be 
shunned  by  the  inexpert.  The  plays  in  this  Cpurse  contain 
monologues,  but  we  shall  have  some  exercises  to  enable  you 
to  translate  them  into  Dialogue  and  real  Action.  Many  ex- 
ercises on  each  of  the  Principles  are  deferred  necessarily,  for 
you  are  not  and  will  not  be  prepared  for  them  until  you  have 
gone  through  considerable  analytical  study,  whereupon  the 
constructive  work  will  begin.  In  the  poetic  drama  mono- 
logue is  more  permissible  than  in  modern  prose,  but  you 
will  observe  that  the  Monologue  there  is  not  for  the  rela- 
tion of  Story  or  for  the  mere  information  of  the  audience ; 
the  amateur  uses  it  to  tell  Story.  The  Aside  is  yet  used  in 
rapid  farce  but  even  there  it  can  be  avoided  if  proper  Pre- 


DIAU)GUE,    MONOIjOGUES    AND   ASIDES  345 

paration  has  been  made  so  that  what  is  said  and  done  is 
Self-explanatory,  so  that  the  Aside  may  usually  be  reduced 
to  "Business."  As,  indeed,  a  wink  to  another,  a  glance,  a 
significant  movement  unseen  by  the  second  character  and 
the  like,  may  be  equivalent  to  an  aside.  To  sum  up  the 
advice  at  this  point,  all  monologues  which  merely  tell  Story, 
or  asides  for  the  same  purpose,  are  to  be  avoided  and  are 
usually  bad  art.  Read  over  the  scenes  then  with  reference 
solely  to  these  points. 

The  Dialogue  of  a  play,  or,  better  said,  of  a  scene,  is  gov- 
erned by  the  object  of  the  scene  itself.  You  are  not  writing 
Plot  when  you  are  writing  Dialogue.  The  scene  stands  be- 
tween you  and  that.  The  scenes  have  their  responsibility 
to  the  Plot,  and  the  Dialogue  is  directly  responsible  to  its 
scene.  The  Plot  is  subject  directly  to  the  Proposition:  Na- 
tion, State,  County,  District,  &c.  The  Dialogue  accom- 
plishes the  purpose  of  the  scene.  It  has  many  niceties  and 
has  large  liberty  in  spite  of  the  apparent  narrow  restriction. 
The  Characters  have  their  rights  within  these  limits  also, 
and  there  is  plenty  to  look  after  in  writing  a  scene.  Refer 
to  the  Division  into  Scenes,  and  you  will  see  that  the  main 
object  of  the  first  scene  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons" 
is  to  convey  the  Pride  of  Pauline,  and  under  that 
we  have  a  number  of  essential  facts,  the  principal 
subordinate  thing  being  that  Pauline  is  destined  by 
her  mother  to  marry  rank.  A  careful  study  of  that  chap- 
ter will  make  you  realize  the  value  and  necessity  of  having 
distinct  scenes.  How  could  the  scenes  be  distinct  or  carried 
out  at  all  except  by  confining  the  Dialogue  to  the  function 
of  the  scene?  The  progressive  Action  of  the  play  puts  the 
Characters  in  different  relations  with  each  other  all  the 
time,  and  that  change  of  relation  is  going  on  and  is  affected 
all  the  time  by  the  details  of  the  Dialogue.  Thus,  the  Dia- 
logue is  governed  by  the  circumstances,  by  the  relations  of 
the  Characters  at  the  moment  and  the  specific  object  of  the 
scene.  Thus,  the  first  scene  with  Beauseant  involves  Plot 
Action  in  its  main  object.    He  is  to  be  rejected,  much  to  his 


34^  ANALYSIS    OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

astonishment  and  indignation.  The  Dialogue  is  conducted 
with  reference  to  this  result,  the  state  of  mind  of  each  Char- 
acter being  held  in  view  and  expressed.  He  is  confident; 
he  tells  of  his  fortune,  that  he  is  noble  except  for  the  recent 
loss  of  his  title.  She  declines.  He  thinks  it  incredible  and 
suggests  that  he  call  on  M.  Deschappelles.  Then  the  moth- 
er interferes  with  her  state  of  mind.  His  rejection  is  made 
more  humiliating  by  her  pretensions.  Many  points  are  in- 
troduced, and  his  rejection  and  indignation  constitute  the 
substance  of  the  scene. 
^""'The  Dialogue  of  a  scene  is  controlled  by  the  object  of 
\  that  scene.  Do  you  want  a  better  example  of  that  principle 
I  and  method  than  the  four  speeches  that  compose  the  first 
scene  in  "Camille?"  Varville  is  waiting  for  Camille  who  is 
out.  That  is  all.  Who  Varville  is;  where  Camille  has  gone; 
those  and  other  details  are  not  needed  at  this  point  and  are 
not  included  in  the  object  of  the  scene.  A  simple,  single 
impression  is  produced.  A  child  can  understand  it.  Your 
amateur  would  "set  them  to  talking,"  confident  that  they 
would  write  the  play  for  him.  What  limits  would  you  set 
to  their  talk  if  the  scene  had  no  definite  object?  Or  would 
it  be  an  object  to  have  them  tell  everything.  Would  a 
hundred  objects  be  the  main  object?  Nichette  appears. 
She  is  not  writing  the  play ;  she  has  no  idea  that  the  play  is 
in  progress;  she  does  not  come  in  in  order  to  give  Nanine 
and  Varville  occasion  to  talk  about  her.  Why  could  not 
Nichette  tell  about  her  former  comradeship  with  Camille 
in  the  shop?  Who  could  better  describe  the  goodness  of 
Camille?  Why  could  she  not  give  full  expression  to  her  ad- 
miration, love  and  sympathy  for  Camille  ?  She  is  prevented 
from  doing  so  by  scores  of  things,  by  Sequence,  by  Prepara- 
tion, by  Indirection,  by  Objectivity,  by  economies  of  va- 
rious kinds.  She  is  the  servant  of  the  Scenario.  She  is  ab- 
solutely free  to  say  anything  she  chooses — within  the  limits 
of  the  objects  of  the  scene.  She  is  not  deprived  of  a  single 
right  to  free  speech.  She  is  not  made  a  puppet  by  the  law 
of  the  scenes.    If  she  would  and  should  have  wished  to  say 


dialoguh:,  monou)Gues  and  asides  347  _ 

more  than  she  does  there  would  be  something  wrong  with 
the  object  of  the  scene.  Nichette  has  five  speeches.  Just 
as  a  play  is  finally  written  from  a  Scenario  we  can  imagine 
the  following  Scenario  for  this  scene  in  a  detailed  Scenario  ^ 
including  some  of  the  notes  which  may  have  been  prepared 
by  Dumas:  "Introduce  Nichette:  She  must  appear  now  in 
order  to  save  explanation  later  on.  The  only  immediate  use 
that  I  can  make  of  her  in  the  Action  is  to  have  her  appear-  , 
ance  lead  up  to  the  third  scene.  Bring  out  the  fact  that  \ 
she  is  a  working  girl,  and  that  she  is  devoted  to  Camille. 
Have  the  occasion  of  her  call  insignificant  to  the  extent  of 
not  having  the  audience  expect  any  result  from  it.  She  will 
drop  in  as  she  was  passing.  I  want  to  get  her  off  as  soon 
as  the  object  of  her  scene  is  accomplished.  For  this  pur-  |  »/ 
pose  let  Gustave  be  waiting  for  her.  She  is  a  working  girl 
and  comes  for  a  bundle  which  Camille  will  have  left  for  her, 
thus  requiring  the  explanation.  Give  these  Facts  that  pro- 
per Sequence  and  Dialogue  it."  Do  you  suppose  that 
Dumas  had  the  slightest  inclination  while  framing  the  Dia- 
logue to  wander  into  talk  outside  of  the  limit?  We  have 
shown  that  Nichette  did  not.  The  management  of  the  Dia-  y 
logue  illustrates  dramatic  method.  Note  how  everything 
is  evoked  and  is  responsive.  It  has  dramatic  Indirection. 
Nichette  thought  Camille  was  in  and  apologizes.  No,  says 
Nanine,  she  is  out.  Do  you  wish  to  see  her?  She  does  not 
speak  of  the  bundle  right  off,  for  that  belongs  to  the  later 
speech  properly.  Nichette's  main  idea  was  to  see  Camille 
as  she  was  passing.  Will  you  wait?  No,  Gustave  is  at  the 
door.  Cause  and  Effect  right  along.  Did  she  leave  the 
bundle?  Yes.  Going  to  carry  it?  Why  not?  it  is  not  ' 
heavy.  Again,  logically  and  straight  to  the  purpose  of  the 
scene  as  outlined.  "Nothing  is  a  trouble  that  I  do  for  Ca- 
mille." It  might  have  been  possible  to  give  it  a  somewhat 
different  Sequence,  but  it  is  often  an  infinitesimal  sense  of 
touch.  Note  how  the  minor  Action  is  kept  up.  Indirectly 
we  see  that  Nichette  is  a  person  well  known  to  Nanine,  for 
she  recognizes  her  voice  before  she  comes  on.    Does  she  tell 


348  ANALYSIS   OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

Varville  who  Nichette  is?  Varville  does  not  know,  for  he 
asks  after  she  has  gone  off.  It  might  have  been  natural 
that  he  ask  before  she  enters.  True,  but  there  was  no  time, 
and  purposely  so.  The  audience  wonders  who  Nichette  is. 
Indirectly  we  learn  a  good  deal  about  her  before  Nanine 
tells  us.  Your  amateur  would  have  delayed  Nichette's  en- 
trance in  order  to  give  Varville  time  to  ask  Nanine  and 
have  had  her  answer  questions.  The  same  facts  would 
have  been  brought  out  but  at  the  expense  of  the  minor  Ac- 
tion. Minor  Action?  Yes,  constant  vibration,  things  left 
in  solution  in  a  small  way,  things  unanswered,  for  Nanine 
had  to  answer  them  for  the  audience  as  well  as  for  Varville 
in  the  next  scene.  Who  is  Gustave?  We  wonder  until 
Nanine  tells  us.  You  would  have  brought  all  that  out  in 
a  second  scene,  eh?  Why  should  it  not  have  been  brought 
out?  Simply  because  it  is  not  good  playwriting.  The  scene 
needed  these  little  touches  of  Minor  Action  for  the  intro- 
duction of  Nichette  at  this  point  is  largely  technical,  al- 
though perfectly  natural,  and  care  had  to  be  taken  to  make 
it  not  only  natural,  but  highly  interesting.  The  mere  pres- 
entation of  Facts  is  very  often  Action,  but  there  should  be 
Minor  Action  along  with  it  and  animation.  The  third 
scene  flows  naturally  from  the  talk  about  Nichette  and 
leads  up  to  the  logical  remark  of  Varville  that  "so  thrives 
everybody's  suit  but  mine."  Everything  serves  its  pur- 
pose; not  a  bit  of  the  breeze  is  spilled  from  the  sails.  Ca- 
mille  comes  on.  We  get  new  Facts.  Why  could  not  Var- 
ville have  said  in  the  first  of  the  third  scene  that  he  had  ask- 
ed Camille  a  hundred  times  for  her  favor?  The  Scenario  of 
the  scene  would  have  provided  for  the  proof  that  Camille 
did  not  care  for  Varville,  and  incident  to  that  would  have 
been  the  details  showing  why  she  is  annoyed.  She  never 
enters  the  house  without  finding  him  there.  She  would  not 
have  time  to  breakfast  if  she  listened  to  such  pleas  from 
every  man.  Varville  says  she  thought  differently  a  year 
ago  at  Bagneres.  Yes,  but  that  was  a  year  ago  and  Camille 
was  sick  and  bored.    Things  have  changed.    This  is  Paris. 


DIALOGUE,    MONOLOGUES    AND   ASIDES  349 

He  angered  her  by  referring  to  DeMeuriac.  She  wastes  no 
Words.  "You  are  a  fool."  Something  new  all  the  time, 
minor  Action,  vibration.  We  need  not  take  up  every  scene 
in  order  to  prove  that  the  Dialogue  is  written  in  strict  ac- 
cordance with  the  Scenario  previously  determined,  that  the 
Dialogue  is  substantially  provided  for  before  a  line  of  it  is 
written.  There  are  little  details  and  turns  which  come  to 
the  writer,  of  course,  as  he  writes.  Naturally,  the  charac- 
ters are  free  within  the  law.  They  will  help  you,  but  not  if 
you  merely  "set  them  to  talking."  !Even  within  the  limita- 
tions they  may  get  it  right  or  they  may  not.  You  may  have 
to  revise  what  they  say.  Note  in  the  scene  where  Camille 
and  Armand  are  left  alone  the  minor  things  in  the  way  of 
Cause  and  Effect  that  make  the  Dialogue  flow  easily  and 
give  progress  to  the  scene.  Armand  remains  behind  when 
the  others  go  out  because  he  is  solicitous  about  her  illness. 
The  Dialogue  begins  with  it.  Because  of  her  illness  he 
wishes  that  he  had  the  right  to  save  her  from  herself.  "It  is 
too  late."  "Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  "You  make 
me  ill."  "Don't  be  foolish,  pray  go  into  the  next  room  and 
enjoy  yourself  with  the  others.  See,  they  don't  mind  me." 
This  Dialogue  is  constantly  evoked,  always  responsive,  al- 
ways proceeding  by  Cause  and  Effect,  always  with  the  main 
object  of  the  scene  in  view.  Armand  has  shown  his  love; 
now  he  expresses  it  passionately  in  words.  "Are  you  seri- 
ous?" "Very."  "Trust  me."  "For  how  long?"  "Forever." 
"How  long  has  this  lasted?"  "For  two  years."  "How 
came  it  that  you  never  told  me  of  this  before?"  Here  we 
have  Dialogue  in  which  we  use  every  principle  of  the 
drama.  It  is  very  dramatic  in  every  syllable.  It  is  in  the 
briefest  sentences  because  there  is  vibration  in  every  utter- 
ance and  moment  of  it.  There  is  constant  change.  It  is 
progressive.  At  the  end  of  the  scene  Armand  has  convinc- 
ed her  of  the  sincerity  of  his  love.  She  has  doubted.  She 
resists.  She  urges.  The  extent  of  the  impression  made  on 
her  is  symbolized  by  the  gift  of  the  flowers.  She  holds  out 
little  promise  and  does  not  give  her  full  consent  to  his  love, 
"only  remember  me,  now  go."    Note  the  Sequence.    How 


350  ANAI.YSIS   01^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

absurd  it  would  have  been  if  Armand  had  begun  the  inter- 
view by  telling  her  that  he  has  cherished  for  six  months  a 
little  button  which  fell  from  her  glove.  The  growth  of  the 
Action  in  this  scene  is  admirable,  the  development  of  Ca- 
mille's  emotions  perfect  art  and  true  nature.  "Ah,  still  you 
laugh."  "Speak  Armand.  I  am  not  laughing  now."  "Will 
you  be  loved?"  "For  how  long?"  "For  eternity!"  "Alas! 
my  life  may  yet  be  happy — it  cannot  be  long — and  short  as 
it  may  be — it  may  outlive  your  promise!"  "Now  who  is 
melancholy."  Dumas  may  have  written  this  scene  at  a  sit- 
ting, but  never  without  a  Scenario.  The  probabilities  are 
that,  even  with  a  Scenario,  he  did  not  Dialogue  it  at  a  sit- 
ting. The  play  is  an  excellent  play  for  the  study  of  Dia- 
logue; but  its  strongest  scenes  are  between  two  people  in 
Dialogue.  But  it  is  not  merely  by  means  of  Words  that  the 
strength  of  them  was  obtained.  A  substantial  part  is  not 
alone  in  the  structure  of  a  scene  but  in  the  structure  of  the 
play  itself.  The  reflex  Action  is  strong.  The  compactness 
and  the  relations  of  the  parts  wonderful.  If,  for  a  moment, 
we  now  turn  to  what  we  may  call  Constructive  Analysis, 
we  will  find  at  once  that  Dialogue  cannot  be  treated  inde- 
pendently of  the  scenes.  In  all  these  exercises  we  have 
tried  to  lead  the  application  of  the  principles  back  to  struc- 
ture, to  impress  the  fact  that  the  process  is  from  the  general 
to  the  particular,  that  the  regular  order  is  a  development 
from  Proposition  to  Plot,  followed  by  the  Action  which  is 
regulated  by  the  scenes.  A  play  cannot  be  constructed  by 
means  of  Dialogue ;  the  Dialogue  is  simply  the  execution  of 
the  scenes.  Constructively,  then,  we  cannot  consider  it 
apart  from  the  scenes.  Again,  if  we  turn  to  what  we  may 
call  Destructive  Analysis,  we  can  only  Destroy  the  value 
and  purpose  of  the  Dialogue  with  reference  to  the  given 
scene.  Wrong 'Sequence  is  the  powerful  destructive  factor. 
That  is  to  say,  wrong  Sequence  in  the  order  of  the  ideas  in 
the  scene  itself.  Of  course,  a  wrong  Sequence  of  the  scenes 
with  reference  to  the  other  scenes  will  destroy  the  value  of 
the  Dialogue,  but  the  Sequence  of  the  Scenes  would  have 


DlALOGUZj    MONOIX)GUES    AND    ASIDES  35I  _    _ 

been  determined  before  any  Dialogue  is  undertaken.  It  is 
when  we  get  to  the  Dialogue  that  the  niceties  of  the  art 
challenge  us.  The  scene  between  Duval  and  Camille  re- 
quired consummate  art.  All  the  Facts  are  familiar  to  us; 
we  have  seen  everything  in  the  Action  as  unfolded.  There 
are  new  things,  of  course,  such  as  the  engagement  of  the 
daughter  and  the  determination  of  the  family  of  the  man 
who  is  to  marry  her  to  break  off  the  match  if  the  relations 
between  Camille  and  Armand  continue.  The  scene  is  a  ter- 
rible struggle.  Full  of  emotion.  Let  us  see  some  of  the 
niceties.  The  moment  that  Duval  introduces  himself,  to 
the  consternation  of  Camille,  we  know  what  is  coming  in  a 
general  way.  It  is  Self-Explanatory.  First,  the  audience 
must  be  put  at  rest  as  to  the  possible  appearance  of  Armand 
by  way  of  interruption.  We  know  that  Armand  is  not 
there,  that  he  has  gone  to  Paris  for  the  day,  we  are  remind- 
ed of  the  fact  at  once  to  set  us  at  ease.  Camille  does  not 
wish  to  have  any  discussion  with  the  father  and  she  at  once 
says  that  Armand  is  not  there.  Duval  says  he  knows  that. 
We  immediately  see,  by  Indirection,  that  his  business  is  with 
her.  By  Indirection  we  see  that  the  father  understands  the 
infatuation  of  his  son  and  our  interest  is  intense  as  to 
whether  he  can  prevail  over  Camille.  He  begins  with  the 
reproach  that  she  is  ruining  his  son.  Duval  believes  that 
his  son  is  accepting  maintenance  from  Camille.  We  know 
the  circumstances.  Camille  resents  his  charge.  The  con- 
versation seems  to  be  at  an  end,  for  she  will  not  listen.  By 
degrees  the  asperity  of  the  father  softens,  and  always  with 
Cause.  She  makes  proof  of  the  fact  that  she  has  sacrificed 
her  property  for  the  sake  of  love.  Duval  could  have  begun 
his  plea  with  the  representation  of  the  facts  as  to  Armand's 
sister,  his  daughter ;  but  he  brings  this  into  play  at  the  right 
moment.  He  could  not  have  effectually  used  the  argument 
before  this  point  in  the  Dialogue.  He  ventures  to  do  it 
only  after  he  sees  that  she  has  a  good  heart,  and  is  not  a 
"dangerous  woman."  Dumas  plays  on  all  the  emotions  in- 
volved, bringing  up  new  turns  constantly.     Camille  con- 


352  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

sents  to  make  the  sacrifice  in  her  own  way.  She  is  yielding 
inch  by  inch.  She  suggests  that  Armand  may  write  to  her 
after  the  daughter's  marriage.  Duval:  "Thanks,  my  child, 
but  I  fear  that  you  do  not  wholly  understand  me.  I  would 
ask  more."  "What  more  could  I  do?"  "A  temporary  ab- 
sence would  not  suffice."  "Ah,  you  would  have  me  quit 
Armand  forever?"  "You  must."  "Never!"  The  conflict  is 
renewed.  She  makes  another  appeal.  She  is  sincere  in  say- 
ing that  the  shock  would  kill  her.  She  begs.  He  represents 
to  her  the  futility  of  her  love.  We  know  that  she  uses  the 
very  same  arguments  as  to  the  stability  of  their  happiness 
in  trying  to  dissuade  Armand  in  the  earlier  acts.  We  see 
the  inevitable,  as  she  does.  She  confesses  that  her  punish- 
ment has  come.  Her  dream  is  passed.  Her  resignation  has 
begun  in  actuality.  She  has  become  a  better  woman  from 
the  moment  and  realizes  that  Armand's  love  was  different 
from  that  which  she  had  been  used  to.  It  is  only  at  the  last 
that  she  sees  that  it  is  for  Armand's  good  that  she  must 
make  the  sacrifice.  Then  she  suggests  the  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  accomplishing  the  sacrifice.  This  aspect  is  entirely 
new.  It  has  come  up  by  the  general  process  of  the  struggle 
between  them.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  Dialogue  the 
scene^  and  it  is  not  at  all  likely  that  it  was  done  at  one  sit- 
ting. 

In  order  to  make  our  analysis,  we  must  first  know  the  na- 
^ture  and  function  of  Dialogue.  We  have  seen  that  the  Plot 
is  a  development  of  the  Proposition,  and  that  the  Division 
into  Acts  and  Scenes  is  a  development  of  the  Plot.  We 
have  seen  that  the  structure  is  established  before  there  is 
any  occasion  for  Dialogue.  To  attempt  to  write  a  play 
without  this  structure,  and  without  recognizing  that  Dia- 
logue is  dependent  upon  this  structure,  and  immediately 
subject  to  the  object  of  the  scene,  would  be  folly.  We  have 
seen  that  the  Dialogue  in  the  opening  scene  of  "Still  Wa- 
ters Run  Deep,"  conforms  to  the  principle  and  methods 
just  indicated.  The  scene  is  introductory  and  hard- 
ly    touches     anywhere     upon     the     Plot     of     the     play. 


DIAIX)GU4    MONOW)GUES    AND    ASIDES  353 

The  Dialogue  is  full  of  Action  in  showing  discord  in 
the  house,  but  it  is  only  when  Mrs.  Mildmay  makes  her  re- 
ference to  Hawksley  that  the  Plot  begins  to  stir.  It  is  plain 
that  the  author  is  not  concerning  himself  about  Plot  so  far 
as  the  audience  is  concerned.  He  was  writing  the  scene, 
and  not  attempting  to  write  the  play  at  the  same  time.  He 
had  freed  his  mind  of  the  danger  of  trying  to  do  this  or  of 
accidentally  writing  unnecessary  Dialogue,  by  having  al- 
ready prepared  the  outline  of  his  play.  With  the  outlined 
Scenario,  he  might  have  elaborated  it  by  making  out  a  Sce- 
nario for  each  scene.  Scenarios  within  a  Scenario.  The  gen- 
eral notes  which  he  had  taken  on  his  play  now  serve  for  use 
in  the  Scenario  of  the  given  scene.  He  knows  what  the 
Conditions  Precedent  are,  and  who  the  Characters  are,  what 
his  play  is  to  be  about,  and  how  everything  is  to  be  effected 
as  to  the  general  structure.  The  notes  that  might  be  pro- 
vided for  this  first  scene,  or  the  material  that  may  be  held 
in  mental  solution,  might  be  voluminous. 

Many  of  those  notes  are  general  in  their  character,  and 
not  only  available  in  one  form  or  another  for  any  particular 
part  of  a  play,  but,  in  the  very  nature  of  the  case  for  all 
parts  of  a  play.  Of  this  kind  are  the  notes  on  Character. 
Character  and  characteristics  must  be  maintained  through- 
out the  play,  and  the  relations  of  the  people  stable  in  some 
particulars,  unstable  in  others,  because  of  the  progressive 
Action  which  is  kept  in  mind  all  the  while.  In  this  very 
first  scene  we  establish  the  relations  of  the  people^  entirely/ 
and  incidentally  under  the  object  of  the  scene,  i  Without  a* 
Scenario  of  the  scene,  or  a  preconceived  idea  of  what  we  are 
going  to  accomplish  in  the  scene  by  means  of  details  of  Ac-^ 
tion  and  Character,  one  would  not  know  how  to  set  about 
writing  a  scene.  It  does  not  convey  everything  to  say  that 
the  Dialogue  carries  out  the  object  of  the  scene.  We  must 
come  back  to  the  similarity  or  identity  of  procedure  of  con- 
struction in  the  other  parts  of  the  play.  We  must  regard 
the  scene  as  a  little  play  in  itself,  with  its  divisions,  and 
usually  with  its  distinct  Proposition,  which  necessitates  a 
23 


/ 


354  ANAI<YSIS    OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLIJ 

Plot.  Of  course,  not  every  scene  is  susceptible  of  being  di- 
vided into  minute  parts  corresponding  to  a  play,  but  the 
similarity  always  exists.  The  Dialogue,  then,  is  the  devel- 
opment of  the  Action  by  means  of,  or  the  addition  or  ex- 
pression of,  words.  It  must  be  practically  all  there  before 
the  words  are  used^J 

.'^We  cannot  make  brick  without  its  proper  material,  clay 
(  and  straw,  or  whatever  ingredients  may  be  required.  We 
do  not  begin  a  structure  until  all  the  materials  are  at  hand. 
We  do  not  stop  work  in  order  to  send  after  materials  which 
we  suddenly  find  that  we  need,  and  then  idly  wait  until  the 
order  is  filled.  In  that  case,  one,  in  building  a  house,  might 
have  to  wait  for  his  structural  iron  for  months.  No,  the 
material  for  this  scene  has  already  been  gathered.  In  order 
to  make  these  principles  clear,  we  have  had  separate  chapters 
on  Material  and  Conditions  Precedent.  We  now  see  how 
they  came  into  practical  use  in  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep." 
By  what  means  is  the  dissension  in  the  family  to 
be  proved?  How  is  Mrs.  Sternhold  to  show  her  au- 
thority? In  gathering  his  Material,  and  outlining 
his  Plot,  Taylor  saw  occasion  for  a  dinner  in  the  last 
act.  This  is  Material  which  he  could  use  for  the  purpose  of 
showing  Mrs.  Sternhold's  authority.  A  little  incidental  fact 
in  his  Material  is  that  Mildmay  and  Emily  have  been  mar- 
ried just  one  year.  Mildmay  would  naturally  want  his  wife 
to  dine  with  him  on  the  anniversary.  This  leads  up  to  the 
assertion  of  Mrs.  Sternhold's  authority  in  announcing  a 
dinner  that  she  had  already  arranged  without  consulting 
Mildmay.  Thus,  the  dinner  is  used  in  the  first  scene  with- 
out the  slightest  apparent  reference  to  the  future  Action  of 
the  play.  The  discussion  and  proof  of  Mrs.  Sternhold's  au- 
thority is  made  strictly  with  reference  to  this  scene.  Speci- 
fic Material  is  used,  reflex  Action  is  provided  for,  and  noth- 
ing is  lost.  Herein  we  see  the  economy  of  playwriting.  In 
our  preparatory  notes  in  the  way  of  gathering  Material,  we 
have  found  the  causes  for  Emily's  distaste  for  her  husband. 
She  is  young  and  romantic,  and  under  the  authority  of  her 


DIAIvOGU^,    MONOI.OGUES    AND    ASIDE^S  355' 

aunt.  No  better  place  to  show  it  than  in  the  first  scene. 
We  have  the  Material  for  it,  and  the  scene  is  comparatively 
easy  to  write  because  of  the  existence  of  the  Material. 
Many  of  the  little  points  introduced  into  this  first  scene  are 
purely  incidental,  and  yet  they  have  particular  value  be- 
cause the  author  has  purposely  weighed  every  particle  of 
the  Material  which  he  is  going  to  use.  It  is  not  an  aimless 
point  that  the  two  have  been  married  but  one  year,  for  if 
they  had  been  married  a  number  of  years,  then  the  cause  of 
Emily's  dislike  might  well  be  satiety,  and  the  misunder- 
standing as  to  the  character  of  Mildmay  would  either  be  ab- 
solute, or  his  development  into  self-assertion  would  not  be 
easily  accepted.  The  actuality  would  be  that  Mildmay  was 
hopelessly  stupid  and  mild,  and  that  his  wife  was  hopelessly 
perverse  and  romantic;  consequently,  it  is  clear  that  the 
points  which  we  have  indicated  are  specific  Material.  Emily 
has  a  distaste  for  her  husband  because  he  is  prosaic  enough 
to  busy  himself  with  the  garden.  That  is  Material.  He 
likes  one  kind  of  music,  and  she  likes  another.  That  is  Ma- 
terial. It  would  have  been  well  nigh  impossible  for  the  au- 
thor to  have  invented  all  this  Material  while  he  was  writing 
the  Dialogue.  He  simply  converted  his  Material  into  Dia- 
logue. He  had  to  give  Sequence  to  the  Action  whereby  he 
introduced  the  points  which  he  had  already  selected  for  use 
in  this  Dialogue.  I 

Our  method  in  examining  into  and  analyzing  the  Dialogue 
requires  us  to  go  back  to  work  already  performed  in  the 
construction  of  the  play.  The  Scenario  or  arrangement  into 
scenes  has  provided  the  structure.  Up  to  this  point  there 
has  been  no  need  for  words,  except  that  the  Scenario  may 
have,  on  occasion,  more  or  less  complete  parts  of  the  Dia- 
logue sketched  or  noted  down.  What  is  to  be  said  is  in  a 
large  measure  predestined  and  foreordained.  When  we 
reach  the  Dialogue  we  are  not  writing  Dialogue  in  order  to 
construct  the  play,  for  that  part  of  the  work  has  been  done. 
It  is  true  that,  inasmuch  as  the  material  remains  plastic  un- 
til the  end,  something  may  arise  in  the  Dialogue  or  relations 


im. 


356  ANAI^YSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI^ie 

between  the  people  which  may  require  a  change  in  the 
structure,  but  that  does  not  happen  often  enough  to  disturb 
us  in  carrying  out  the  object  of  each  scene  as  already  deter- 
mined on.  Care  is  to  be  taken  that  we  do  not  attempt  to 
write  Plot  as  Plot  while  we  are  writing  Dialogue.  We  are 
simply  dialoguing  a  scene.  We  are  carrying  out  by  means  of 
words  the  object  of  that  scene,  as  it  affects  and  effects  Plot, 
and  writing  specifically  for  the  purpose  of  the  moment.  Of 
course,  the  Dialogue  has  its  bearing  on  the  past  and  on  the 
future,  but  it$  specific  quality  concerns  the  present  moment. 
We  now  see  the  value  of  the  Scenario  or  Division  into 
Scenes.  The  object  of  the  first  scene  in  "A  New  Way  to 
Pay  Old  Debts"  is  to  show  that  Wellborn  is 
friendless,  and  an  outcast;  that  is  the  most  general 
idea.  Everything  that  is  said  is  subordinate  to  it.  We 
demonstrated  that  every  idea  in  the  first  scene  of  "The 
Lady  of  Lyons"  was  subordinated  to  the  general  idea  of 
vanity.  We  see  exactly  the  same  technical  condition  in  the 
first  scene  of  this  play.  Wellborn  is  friendless,  and  we 
thereupon  see  why  he  is  friendless,  and  the  Dialogue  which 
sets  this  forth  furnishes  facts  upon  which  the  Action  is  bas- 
ed. But  with  reference  to  the  scene  they  are  plainly  subor- 
dinate. In  both'  cases  occasion  has  been  given  for  setting 
forth  the  facts.  If  the  mere  setting  forth  of  the  facts  had 
been  the  main  object  in  either  case,  we  would  have  had  an 
undramatic  method,  but  wkh  the  occasion  provided  the 
facts  are  properly  presented.  It  will  be  observed  that 
everything  that  is  said  concerns  the  present  moment.  We 
have  Wellborn  and  Tap  well  and  Froth  before  us  in  certain 
relations,  and  what  they  say  proceeds  from  that  state  of  af- 
fairs and  their  state  of  mind.  There  is  an  immediate  rea- 
son for  them  to  say  all  that  is  said.  The  Dialogue  is  made 
up  of  the  necessities  of  the  situation.  If  this  were  not  so, 
and  if  the  author  were  presenting  facts  merely  for  his  con- 
venience and  not  from  the  necessities  of  the  relations  of 
these  people,  the  sense  of  immediate  Action  would  at  once 
depart  from  the  scene.    The  recalling  of  the  past  history  of 


diai,ogue:^  monologues  and  asides  357  _ 

the  profligate  is  necessary  not  so  much  for  our  understand- 
ing of  the  Plot  of  the  play  as  it  is  for  the  wrath  of  Well- 
born after  the  impudent  underling  and  former  tenant  had 
expressed  his  insults.  We  really  care  less  for  the  fact  than 
we  do  for  the  effect  it  is  having  upon  Wellborn,  with  whom 
we  entirely  sympathize,  and  hope  that  he  will  administer 
just  punishment  to  the  thankless  creature.  It  would  be  al- 
most impossible  for  one  to  imagine  the  conversation  taking 
a  different  turn;  they  are  not  discussing  Sir  Giles  Over- 
reach with  reference  to  his  character,  for  it  will  be  observ- 
ed that  Wellborn  pays  no  attention  whatever  to  what  is 
said  about  Sir  Giles.  That  comes  later.  His  feeling  to- 
ward Sir  Giles  is  expressed  in  the  scene  with  Allworth. 
Here  we  have  not  a  single  expression  from  Wellborn  as  to 
his  feeling  toward  his  uncle.  His  sole  resentment  is  against 
Tapwell,  whom  he  has  set  up  in  business.  Everything  that 
he  says  in  this  Dialogue  bears  on  Tapwell  and  increases  our 
desire  that  the  blows  that  we  hope  he  will  administer  to 
him  will  not  lack  in  force.  Thus  we  see  that  the  Dialogue 
of  the  first  scene,  while  it  conveys  many  facts  that  are  ab- 
solutely essential  to  the  foundation  of  the  Action,  bears 
upon  the  moment  only. '  It  matters  not  how  important  those 
facts  may  be,  how  significant  the  Dialogue  may  be  about 
the  subordinate  things,  it  must  concern  the  moment.  The 
object  of  the  scene  is  accomplished,  Wellborn  administers 
the  blows  to  Tapwell.  Of  course  they  are  important  so  far 
as  results  go  toward  rehabilitating  him,  and,  in  that  way, 
finally  demonstrate,  at  the  very  close  of  the  scene,  the  ob- 
ject of  the  scene,  which  is  to  show  that  Wellborn  is  friend- 
less. The  object  of  the  scene  summed  up  everything  that 
had  to  be  written  in  it  and  which  now  appears  in  it.  The 
second  scene  simply  demonstrates  that  Wellborn  has  a 
friend.  Of  course,  there  are  many  ideas  and  many  objects 
in  a  scene,  but  the  well  ordered  mind  always  finds  in  it  the 
dominating  idea.  For  example,  how  futile  it  would  be  to 
assign  as  the  object  of  this  scene  that  Allworth  saves  Tap- 
well  from  further  punishment.    That  is  certainly  the  imme- 


358  ANAIvYSIS   OF- DRAMATIC   PRINCIPI,^ 

diate  result  of  his  appearance,  but  it  has  no  significance  as 
it  relates  to  the  Plot.  Allworth  tells  Wellborn  that  they 
are  not  worth  his  anger.  That  is  a  fact,  but  it  is  purely  su- 
bordinate. The  main  idea  is  that  Wellborn,  whom  we  have 
seen  friendless  has  a  friend.  This  friend  is  Allworth.  We 
see  it  in  his  manner.  We  see  the  potentialities  of  such 
friendship  in  his  dress.  In  fact,  that  he  is  Wellborn's  friend 
— that  Wellborn  has  a  friend — is  the  most  significant  fact, 
and  no  more  Dialogue  is  required  than  to  set  that  forth.  The 
details  of  that  friendship  require  a  separate  scene.  To  com- 
plete the  scene  it  is  only  required  to  get  Tapwell  and  Froth 
off  the  stage.  The  object  of  the  third  scene  is  to  show  that 
Wellborn  refuses  aid  from  Allworth,  and  will  retrieve  his 
fortune  in  his  own  way.  Obviously,  this  object  has  breadth 
and  dimensions  and  requires  considerable  detail,  and  it  is 
the  business  of  the  Dialogue  to  give  it.  It  will  be  observed 
that  everything  that  is  talked  about  in  this  scene  is  subor- 
dinate to  the  purpose  already  indicated.  He  will  not  accept 
aid  from  Allworth  because  he  lived  at  the  devotion  of  a 
stepmother  and  the  uncertain  favor  of  a  Lord.  We  learn 
who  his  stepmother  is  and  that  Allworth  is  in  the  army 
serving  under  a  noble  commander.  These  are  the  details 
necessary  to  the  elucidation  of  the  Proposition  of  our  scene. 
It  is  true  that  Wellborn's  counsel  to  Allworth  in  regard  to 
his  love  for  Sir  Giles's  daughter  does  not  seem  to  have  any 
bearing  on  the  reason  why  he  refuses  aid  from  Allworth. 
But  examine  it  closely  and  you  will  find  that  his  state  of 
feeling  toward  the  father  of  the  girl  that  Allworth  loves  ex- 
plains the  reason  why  he  intends  to  retrieve  his  own  for- 
tunes in  his  own  way.  The  fact  that  Sir  Giles  has  ruined 
Allworth's  father,  too,  who  was  Wellborn's  friend  is  com- 
plementary to  his  own  spirit  of  revenge  and  his  resolve  to 
redeem  himself,  which  is  prompted  by  the  abject  state  of 
humiliation  which  he  just  experienced  at  the  hands  of  an 
ungrateful  old  tenant,  and  which  has  been  witnessed  by 
Allworth  and  by  us.  It  would  seem  that  Wellborn's  state- 
ment that  Sir  Giles  would  never  consent  to  the  marriage 


DIALOGUE:,    MONOLOGUES.  AND   ASIDES  359 

between  Margaret  and  Allworth  is  not  to  the  purpose  of 
the  scene  as  given,  but  it  is.  He  does  not  tell  of  Sir  Giles's 
ambition  for  his  daughter  simply  for  the  information  of  the 
audience,  but  by  way  of  counsel  to  his  friend.  Then  again, 
it  leads  back  at  the  end  of  the  scene  to  Allworth's  renewed 
offer  to  help.  It  also  establishes  in  our  minds  confidence  in 
Wellborn's  resolution,  and  gives  us  certain  facts  which  lead 
us  to  hope  for  the  success  of  his  plan,  which  is  purposely 
left  indefinite  as  to  detail,  one  which  inspires  us  with  hope 
from  the  very  facts  brought  out  in  the  Dialogue.  The  open- 
ing scene  of  the  second  set  scene  is  to  show  the  opulence  of 
Lady  Allworth  and  the  character  of  the  servants.  The 
scene  is  purely  introductory,  so  far  as  we  can  see  it  has  no 
bearing  on  the  plot.  That  is  to  say,  we  cannot  see  what 
can  come  from  their  overfed  and  pampered  impudence,  but 
it  is  introductory  and  preparatory  and  a  part  of  the  Action. 
It  may  be  that  there  is  some  Action  in  the  apprehension  of 
the  audience  as  to  what  will  be  the  reception  of  Wellborn 
when  he  presents  himself.  But  strictly  speaking,  this 
would  be  an  afterthought  for  we  have  no  direct  information 
that  Wellborn  is  to  visit  Lady  Allworth  at  all.  It  is  true 
that  Tom  Allworth  has  assured  Wellborn  that  he  would 
meet  from  her  a  liberal  entertainment,  but  Wellborn  has 
not  given  us  any  intimation  of  his  plan,  which  as  it  turns 
out  involves  this  very  visit.  These  characters,  whatever 
may  be  their  personal  designs  and  plans,  are  utterly  uncon- 
scious of  any  Plot,  as,  indeed,  no  characters  can  by  any 
possibility  concern  themselves  in  the  technical  Plot  of  a 
play.  It  is  also  always  the  case  with  preparatory  and  intro- 
ductory scenes  with  apparently  unimportant  characters, 
that  these  characters  and  the  scene  itself  are  made  con- 
spicuously interesting.  The  important  point  here  was  to 
lay  the  foundation  for  future  Action.  The  use  of  it  all  we 
see  later  on,  and  for  the  moment  we  are  entertained  by  the 
servants,  and  are  put  in  possession  of  certain  fundamental 
facts.    Occasion  is  provided  for  these  facts,  the  immediate 


360  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPIvE 

object  is  not  the  facts,  a  mistake  which  can  easily  be  made, 
but  to  enforce  the  general  idea,  the  largest  idea,  which  is 
the  state  in  which  Lady  Allworth  lives.  Everything  else 
is  subordinate  to  that.  We  even  get  information  about  Jus- 
tice Greedy  in  this  little  scene,  but  what  significance  does 
the  reference  to  him  have,  except  as  it  shows  the  discontent 
of  the  servants  at  the  idleness  under  wages,  while  their  mis- 
tress has  retired  from  the  world  and  no  longer  entertains? 
A  great  deal  is  brought  out  in  this  scene,  but  it  is  all  subor- 
dinate to  the  object  as  given.  The  next  scene  is  the  cordial 
reception  of  young  Allworth.  It  is  short  and  all  that  is  said 
is  entirely  natural,  and  merely  by  way  of  gradation.  Order 
remarks  he  is  his  father's  picture  in  little.  Allworth  thanks 
him.  Scene  third  is  simply  a  characteristic  introductory 
scene  of  Lady  Allworth  and  her  maids.  The  fourth  scene 
is  one  of  some  length  and  of  serious  purpose.  It  is  concern- 
ed with  the  Plot.  Up  to  this  point  we  have  had  no  reflex 
Action,  but  now  that  Lady  Allworth  warns  her  stepson 
against  association  with  Wellborn,  we  immediately  connect 
the  Actio;i  with  the  fortunes  of  the  outcast  in  whom  we 
have  begun  to  take  an  interest,  and  of  whose  resolution  to 
redeem  himself  we  have  had  a  glimpse.  We  first  saw  him 
friendless,  then  saw  him  with  a  friend,  and  now  we  see  him 
deprived  of  this  friend.  The  Dialogue  is  of  some  length, 
but  it  strictly  carries  out  the  object  of  the  scene.  We 
get  the  reasons  why  she  warns  Allworth  to  beware  of  ill 
company.  She  admits  that  Wellborn  had  been  a  friend  of 
her  husband  whose  memory  she  reveres,  that  if  he  had  lived 
to  have  known  him  as  he  is,  he  too  would  have  cast  him  off 
"as  you  must  do."  It  should  be  a  part  of  our  pleasure  to 
realize  that  we  are  now  dealing  with  the  work  of  a  master. 
Among  the  many  objects  of  this  scene,  with  its  many  minor 
objects  we  have  Lady  Allworth's  reverence  for  the  memory 
of  her  husband  and  her  own  nobility  of  character.  But  as 
strongly  as  they  are  presented,  is  it  not  plain  to  you  that 
they  are  subordinate  to  the  object  of  the  scene,  which  is  to 


DIAIXXiUE,    MONOLOGUES   AND   ASIDSS  361- 

warn  Allworth  against  association  with  Wellborn?  The 
scene  which  introduces  Sir  Giles  and  Greedy  is  one  of  con- 
venience only,  and,  as  in  the  case  of  scenes  already 
pointed  out  which  have  no  apparent  bearing  on  the  Plot,  it 
is  made  vastly  entertaining.  Now  that  the  author  has  in- 
troduced Sir  Giles,  we  see  his  technical  purpose  in  having 
him  meet  Wellborn  whom  he  spurns.  By  following  out  the 
division  into  scenes,  which  we  have  already  prepared,  we 
see  that  the  Dialogue  simply  executes  the  object  of  each 
scene.  The  two  most  important  scenes  in  the  Act  are  those 
in  which  we  are  first  prepared  to  expect  that  Lady  Allworth 
would  refuse  assistance  or  countenance  of  any  kind  to 
Wellborn,  when  she  warns  Allworth  against  him,  and  a 
subsequent  scene  in  which  Wellborn  prevails  over  her,  and 
gains  her  confidence  and  promise  of  assistance.  Surely  in 
each  of  these  important  scenes  there  is  ample  opportunity 
for  Dialogue  which  need  not  have  been  worked  out  in  de- 
tail until  the  structure  of  the  play  has  been  completed. 
Surely,  when  we  reach  the  eleventh  scene,  in  which  Well- 
born prevails  over  Lady  Allworth,  there  is  enough  to  en- 
gage Dialogue.  Surely  Wellborn  cannot  prevail  over  her 
in  a  few  words.  Surely  he  will  have  to  exercise  diplomacy, 
surely  he  must  urge  facts  and  arguments  of  sufficient 
weight  to  move  a  woman  of  such  force  of  character.  To 
carry  out  the  objects  of  such  important  scenes  requires  De- 
tail and  Dialogue.  Surely  the  dramatist  had  enough  to  do 
to  conduct  his  Dialogue  without  attempting  to  construct 
the  play  in  all  its  parts  at  the  same  time.  No,  he  is  Dia- 
loguing his  Scenario.  He  is  giving  us  the  details  of  the  pre- 
ordained scenes.  Inasmuch  as  the  scenes  have  determined, 
in  a  general  way,  what  is  to  be  said  by  the  characters  in 
the  scenes,  it  would  be  wholly  unprofitable  to  us  to  ima- 
gine what  they  should  not  say,  except  by  way  of  exercise. 
If  limitations  had  not  been  put  to  what  they  should  say,  we 
would  have  to  struggle  constantly  against  circumstances 
and  ideas  not  already  determined,  but  our  particular  care 


362  ANALYSIS   01?  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPI.^ 

with  reference  to  Sequence  now  in  writing  the  Dialogue  is 
as  to  Sequence  within  the  scene.  We  ask  you  to  establish 
your  understanding  of  the  method  of  Dialoguing  that 
which  has  already  been  predetermined;  to  have  you  accept 
as  an  absolute  truth  that  the  Dialogue  must  be  confined  to 
the  object  of  the  scene. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


ENTRANCES  AND  EXITS. 

The  beginner  often  says  with  naive  confidence :  *T  can  do 
everything  else,  but  I  do  not  know  how  to  get  the  Charac- 
ters on  and  off."  If  your  Plot  and  Scenes  are  properly 
ordered,  if  you  really  have  "done  everything  else,"  you  will 
not  be  in  such  straits  in  the  matter.  Note  the  Entrances 
and  Exits  of  the  Characters  in  "Ingomar,"  particularly  with 
reference  to  their  technical  management.  See  if  you  can 
observe  any  peculiarities  about  them ;  note  the  care  the  au- 
thor takes  to  give  the  characters,  in  many  cases,  something 
pertinent  to  do.  Do  you  not  yourself,  in  leaving  a  room, 
feel  a  certain  necessity  of  timing  your  last  word  of  depar- 
ture ?  See  how  the  author  provides  for  the  matter  in  detail, 
generally  making  the  Entrance  or  Exit  characteristic,  util- 
izing it  for  a  point  of  some  kind.  Parthenia's  Entrance 
after  it  is  made  known  that  Myron,  her  father,  has  been 
made  captive,  is  provided  for  by  the  announcement  first  to 
the  mother,  who  is  carried  into  the  house  in  a  swoon.  Does 
not  Parthenia's  rushing  out,  exclaiming,  "Where  is  the  man 
who  brings  this  fearful  news?"  explain  itself?  Does  not 
getting  the  mother  off  give  Parthenia  a  particularly  good 
Entrance?  She  bursts  on  in  the  highest  state  of  emotion. 
Do  you  not  see  the  technical  reason  for  the  management  of 
this  and  other  Entrances?  Do  you  not  suppose  that  it  was 
all  reasoned  out  by  the  author?  Or  did  he  put  it  all  down 
as  he  first  fancied  it?  Letting  the  people  do  as  they  please? 
You  will  observe  that  Polydor's  house  is  opposite  Myron's, 
affording  easy  occasion  for  some  of  the  Entrances  and 
Exits.  If  you  understand  the  plastic  nature  of  dramatic 
art,  that  is,  changing  and  perfecting  in  order  to  meet  points 
as  they  arise,  you  will  have  no  great  trouble  about  En- 
trances beyond  what  common  sense,  with  the  resources  of 
your  art,  will  meet  if,  J^ou  hayejgroger^ljf  arranged  the  Plot  and 


364  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPLE 

the  structure  generally  in  the  Action.  In  regard  to  the  stage 
itself,  with  its  stage  directions  of  R.';  L. ;  R.  U.  E.;  D.  F. 
(door  in  Flat)  ;  R.  I.  E. ;  &c. ;  &c. ;  &c. ;  it  may  be  said  that 
there  is  nothing  more  delusive  to  the  beginner  than  the  im- 
portance he  attaches  to  such  "knowledge."  For  the  pres- 
ent, do  not  concern  yourself  about  it  particularly.  Many 
acting  editions  of  plays  have  Scene-Plots  and  Diagrams. 
You  can  get  all  the  misleading  and  almost  superfluous  jar- 
gon from  them.  First  get  acquainted  with  the  human,  dra- 
matic point  of  view;  the  other,  the  stage  point  of  view, 
will  come  to  you  soon  enough.  Of  course,  you  should 
know  the  terms  and  the  limitations  of  the  stage,  but  these 
particular  details  belong  more  properly  to  stage  manage- 
ment than  to  authorship.  It  is  enough^that  you  make  sure 
that  what  you  have  the  chaTacteirTs  do  is  possible  for  them 
to  do  on  the  stage.  The  stage  is  no  longer  bare  and  ma- 
nipulated by  means  of  obvious  wings,  borders,  flies,  drops, 
and  shifted  Scenes  in  numbered  grooves  a  few  feet  apart  ac- 
cording to  the  depth  of  the  stage,  with  correspondingly 
numbered  Entrances  between.  Of  course,  a  point  of  En- 
trance may  be  indicated,  but  the  stage  manager,  as  is  his 
right  as  a  rule,  will  change  it  all  as  he  sees  fit.  He  may 
have  an  entirely  different  room  in  arrangement  from  yours. 
The  Action  of  the  play,  what  your  people  do  and  say  after 
they  get  on  the  stage  is  what  should  concern  you  in  the 
early  stages  of  acquiring  the  art.  Naturally,  you  must  have 
a  clear  and  consistent  movement  in  your  mind  and  positions 
for  your  people  while  writing  the  play,  but  let  that  take  care 
of  itself  until  you  are  unfortunately  compelled  by  close  as- 
sociation with  the  stage  to  know  all  about  "raking  pieces," 
"backing,"  "profile  trees,"  (whereas  your  mind  should  scorn 
anything  short  of  a  real  tree  while  writing),  "boxed  inte- 
riors," &c.,  &c.  Describe  your  Scenery,  if  you  choose,  and 
the  Entrances,  R.  and  L.,  &c.,  up  stage,  down  stage,  &c.,  if 
you  will,  but  do  not  try  to  deceive  yourself  or  any  one  else 
by  a  display  of  stage  knowledge,  the  pedantry  of  ignorance, 


ENTRANCES  AND  EXITS  365 

the  real  knowledge  itself  of  the  stage  being  a  poor  thing 
at  best  compared  with  playwriting  itself. 

The  Entrances  and  Exits  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  were  /" 
provided  or  revised  by  Macready,  one  of  the  greatest  stage- 
managers  ever  known,  and  are  consequently  worth  close 
observation.  Attention  has  already  been  called  to  the  En- 
trance of  Beauseant  at  the  cottage  and  the  various  En- 
trances and  Exits  of  the  Widow,  and  the  use  made  gen- 
erally of  the  stairway.  Observe  that  a  few  lines  are  usually 
given  to  one  of  the  characters  after  the  announcement  of 
some  one  to  enter  and  before  that  Entrance.  Damas  enters 
to  his  cousins  without  announcement.  Beauseant  makes 
his  first  Exit  with,  "Ladies,  I  have  the  honor  of  wishing  you 
a  very  good  morning."  You  may  be  sure  that  he  was  near 
the  door,  or  possibly  the  actor  may  wish  the  business  of 
uttering  his  aside,  gradually  nearing  the  door.  Or  he 
may  wish  to  sail  out  from  a  distance ;  a  woman  likes  that. 
Note  Pauline's  Exit  after  coming  back  for  the  flowers.  Da- 
mas exits  with  an  epigram.  Beauseant  enters  the  inn  after 
we  have  heard  him  giving  directions  behind  the  scenes  as  to 
baiting  the  horses.  The  Landlord  enters  naturally  from  the 
Inn.  Beauseant  Exits  with  something  definite,  "You  think 
only  of  the  sport, — I  of  the  revenge."  Caspar  exits  with  a 
passionate  expression  relating  to  his  experience.  /'The  epi- 
grammatic for  an  Exit  is  very  noticeable  naturally  in  a 
work  revised  by  a  stagemanager.  The  Entrances  and  Exits 
are  usually  Self-explanatory,  as  when  Damas  enters  with 
two  swords.  The  Exits  and  "curtains"  for  the  principals 
are  forceful.  Note  the  first  Entrance  of  Melnotte.  Pauline  also 
is  generally  provided  with  a  good  Entrance.  She  is  discov- 
ered in  the  last  act,  but  the  Business  is  good.  In  what 
scenes  the  Characters  are  to  Exit  and  Enter  is  determined 
gradually  as  the  structure  of  the  play  is  framed.  Finally, 
the  Scenario  makes  all  this  definite.  These  characters  do  1 
not  come  and  go  as  they  will,  but  as  the  structure  and  tech- 
nique  demand. 

Before  we  begin  "writing"  a  play  we  have  determined 


366  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

Upon  the  Entrances  and  Exits,  which  depend  upon  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  Scenes  as  shaped  in  the  Scenario.  Char- 
acters cannot  come  and  go  as  they  please  or  as  often  as  they 
may  choose.  Their  functions  have  been  determined  by  and 
are  controlled  by  the  prearranged  Plot,  the  order  of  the 
scenes  and  the  object  of  the  scenes.  To  have  Varville  dis- 
covered is  not  the  only  w^ay  in  which  he  could  have  been  in- 
troduced, but  it  was  the  best  way.  It  was  necessary  to 
show  first  that  Varville  was  a  persistent  suitor  and  that  Ca- 
mille  did  not  care  for  him,  and  that  her  heart  was  free.  It 
was  necessary  to  introduce  Nichette  at  this  point  in  order 
to  clear  the  ground  and  lay  the  foundation  for  a  material 
part  of  the  Action.  It  was  proper  to  give  her  some  Cause 
for  coming,  the  little  bundle,  and  a  cause  for  her  going,  that 
Gustave  was  waiting  for  her.  There  is  obviously  no  Plot 
in  this  so  far  as  Nichette  is  concerned.  Why  she  is  intro- 
duced is  more  important  than  the  manner  of  her  Entrance 
and  Exit,  which  could  have  been  accomplished  in  other 
ways,  but  hardly  in  a  better  way.  In  the  Dialogue  shortly 
before  Camille  enters  we  learn  that  she  is  at  the  Opera,  and 
she  enters  with  her  cloak,  which  she  throws  aside;  she 
comes  on  hurriedly  and  orders  supper,  which  takes  Nanine 
off.  She  orders  supper  because  she  expects  friends  whom 
she  has  met.  Nanine  ushers  in  the  expected  Olimpe  and 
Gaston.  Armand  and  Prudence  enter  because  called  for, 
and  admitted  by  Nanine.  Varville's  exit  is  effected  capital- 
ly, for  Camille  does  not  invite  him  to  remain.  The  guests 
are  off  and  Camille  is  left  alone  with  Armand  because  Ca- 
mille asks  to  be  left  alone  and  Olimpe  urges  that  she  is  bet- 
ter alone  when  she  has  these  attacks.  Now,  all  this  did  not 
happen  by  accident.  Natural  as  it  all  is,  it  is  art  that  makes 
it  so.  The  scene  between  Camille  and  Armand  was  abso- 
lutely essential ;  it  had  to  be,  and  Dumas  contrived  the  way 
of  getting  the  guests  off  by  the  use  of  means  existent  in  the 
material  and  the  circumstances.  That  Armand  remained 
with  her  is  Self-explanatory.  It  is  not  her  trick  to  be  alone 
with  Armand,  for  she ~says,  ''Monsieur  Duval,  and  you.  Gas- 


ENTRANCES  AND  EXITS  367 

ton,  step  into  the  other  room,  and  before  you  have  your  ci- 
gars lit  I  will  be  with  you."  Armand  exits  when  the  Dia- 
logue has  reached  the  point  desired  by  the  dramatist  and 
when  Camille  gives  him  the  flower  and  says,  "now  go."  The 
re-entrance  of  the  frivolous  guests  is  accomplished  by  a  , 
dance.  There  is  nothing  tame  in  the  resources  of  true  art.  / 
In  the  second  act  Nanine  and  Prudence  are  discovered. 
Prudence,  no  doubt,  with  her  bonnet  on,  at  once  indicating 
a  visit  of  some  sort;  Camille  enters,  and  we  at  once  learn 
the  nature  of  the  business;  Nanine  goes  off  to  answer  the 
bell ;  Armand,  whom  we  are  half  expecting  at  that  moment, 
enters,  and  Prudence  goes  off,  partly  because  she  has 
her  money  and  partly  because  she  knows  that  she  is  in  the 
way,  her  exit  being  accomplished  by  her  speech,  which  is 
based  partly  on  the  fact  that  Armand  did  not  notice  her  at 
first.  The  object  of  the  Dialogue  between  Armand  and  Ca- 
mille effected,  Armand  leaves,  promising  to  breakfast  with 
her.  Camille's  short  monologue  gives  time  for  the  entrance 
of  Varville,  in  itself  natural,  and  has  a  particular  cause 
back  of  it  in  the  note  which  Camille  has  received  from 
him.  Nanine's  entrances  and  exits  are  matters  of  course. 
Camille  goes  with  Varville  for  supper.  Nanine's  little 
monologue,  as  she  reads  Armand's  note  to  Camille,  is  need- 
ed for  time  and  for  the  entrance  of  Prudence.  Her  en- 
trance is  directly  connected  with  the  letter  and  Armand's 
presence  at  her  house  wishing  to  see  Camille.  Camille's  re- 
entrance  is  provided  for  by  the  need  of  a  heavier  wrap,  not 
to  speak  of  the  more  significant  agitation  of  her  mind.  Na- 
nine is  sent  off  to  dismiss  Varville.  Prudence  goes  to  sum- 
mon Armand.  Observe  that  what  she  says  as  she  goes  out 
is  characteristic,  and  has  reference  to  the  matter  in  hand. 
Armand's  entrance  is  expected  and  natural.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  the  third  act.  Prudence  enters,  asking  for  Camille. 
Nanine  exits  after  answering  her  questions,  saying  that 
Nichette  and  Gustave  are  in  the  garden  and  that  Camille  is 
with  them.  Camille  enters,  asks  a  question  relative  to  the 
papers  (for  the  sale  of  her  articles) .    The  information  was  a 


368  ANALYSIS   01^  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE 

material  something  for  the  advancement  of  the  Action ;  and 
Prudence  goes  off  with  her  characteristic  appetite  "to  din- 
ner, for  I  am  dying  of  hunger."  Any  stage  direction  on  the 
manner  of  her  Exit  is  needless.  Gustave  and  Nichette  en- 
ter naturally ;  we  have  been  told  that  they  are  spending  the 
day  with  Camille.  They  are  got  off  by  the  announcement 
of  the  man  "in  charge  of  the  sale" :  "So  walk  in  the  garden, 
you  and  Gustave.  He  will  soon  be  gone,  and  I  will  join 
you."  Armand's  father,  Duval  enters,  to  our  surprise,  but 
naturally.  He  prevails  vdth  her,  and  Exits  with  "Heaven 
bless  you  for  the  sacrifice."  After  she  completes  her  letter 
for  Armand  he  enters.  We  know  from  Nanine  in  the  first 
scene  that  he  has  been  in  Paris,  and  we  now  know  that  he 
has  just  returned.  The  Dialogue  concerns  the  letter  which 
she  does  not  let  him  see,  and  she  departs  bidding  him  her 
veiled  farewell.  She  leaves  him  to  wait  until  his  father 
comes.  Natural  Entrances  and  Exits  rapidly  bring  the  act 
to  a  close.  In  the  opening  of  the  fourth  act,  after  the  dance, 
Armand  enters.  It  is  a  neat  touch  that  he  was  supposed  to 
be  at  Tours,  and  consequently  not  expected,  for,  later  on, 
his  presence  is  a  surprise  to  Camille.  The  fact  that  he  is 
there  unexpectedly  leads  to  the  Dialogue  between  him  and 
Prudence.  She  tells  him  that  Camille  will  be  there,  and  we 
get  at  his  state  of  mind.  Gustave  is  present,  and  a  scene 
follows  between  the  two  men.  Camille  and  Varville  enter 
just  from  the  Opera.  This  confirms  what  Prudence  has 
said  as  to  her  revelry  at  the  expense  of  her  health.  In  addi- 
tion, she  enters  at  the  proper  moment  in  the  development  of 
the  Action.  They  all  remain  on  the  stage  in  a  composite 
scene  until  Armand  wins  the  game,  when  Camille  is  left 
with  Varville.  She  gets  him  off  with  the  plea  that  she 
would  speak  to  Prudence.  Prudence  is  sent  off  to  bring 
Armand.  Armand  comes  by  reason  of  the  message.  When 
"she  confesses,  in  order  to  be  true  to  her  sacrifice,  that  she 
loves  Varville,  Armand  throws  open  the  supper-room  door, 
and  bids  all  enter,  the  succeeding  Action  ending  with  a 
tableau.    The  Entrances  and  Exits  in  the  concludmg  act  are 


ENTRANCE'S  AND  EXITS  369 

natural  and  simple,  requiring  no  comment  except  as  to  the 
lines  at  Entrance  and  Exit.  Nanine  enters  naturally  as  Ca- 
mille's  maid.  Gaston  goes  out  to  get  his  coat  which  he  has 
left  in  the  entry,  bidding  Nanine  to  get  Camille  up.  He  re- 
turns with  a  cheering  word,  and  finally,  after  his  talk  with 
Camille,  who  begs  him  to  remember  all  that  she  has  said, 
goes  out  with:  "It  shall  lie  upon  my  heart  like  a  prayer." 
Nanine  does  not  like  to  go  out  when  Prudence  enters,  but 
does  so  at  Camille's  assurance.  Prudence  comes  with  the 
purpose  of  borrowing  money  and  goes  out  when  she  gets 
it,  gently  bidden  to  go  by  Camille,  and  with  the  remark  that 
she  has  some  purchase  to  make,  and  that  she  is  so  sleepy 
that  she  can  hardly  keep  her  eyes  open.  Camille  says  to 
herself,  "and  that  was  one  of  my  friends,"  Armand's  en- 
trance is  remotely  prepared  for  by  the  letter  which  Camille 
reads  from  his  father,  and  directly  prepared  for  by 
Nanine's  breathless  and  half  expressed  announcement.  Ni- 
chette,  Gustave  and  Gaston  enter  naturally;  and  it  is  to  be 
remembered  that  Nanine  had  carried  a  letter  to  Nichette  to 
be  given  to  Nichette  after  the  ceremony  of  her  marriage. 

The  tendency  toward  economy,  which  we  found  so  mark- 
ed as  to  Words,  extends  to  all  parts  of  the  drama,  and  with 
particular  force  to  Exits  and  Entrances.  We  have  seen  that 
an_jmportant  Exit  or  Entrance  usually  begins  or  ends  a 
S£ene.  If  we  permitted  Characters  to  come  and  go  with  too 
much  frequency  a  point  would  be  reached  where  the  Ac- 
tion would  become  unintelligible.  As  an  experienced  dra-. 
matist,  Taylor  probably  gave  no  consideration  to  any  other 
opening  to  "Still  Water  Runs  Deep"  than  the  present  first 
scene.  In  the  first  place,  the  play  is  a  domestic  one,  and 
the  first  scene,  having  the  four  members  of  the  family  in 
the  drawing  room,  afforded  him  the  opportunity  of  charac- 
terizing them  and  their  relations  and  setting  forth  the  con- 
ditions from  which  the  Action  was  to  proceed.  An  inexpert 
"dramatist"  might  have  used  a  number  of  scenes  with  their 
Exits  and  Entrances  for  the  same  purpose.  These  Exits  and 
Entrances  are  not  left  to  chance.  There  is  a  process  of  rea- 
24 


370  ANAI.YSIS   OF  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPI^E 

soning  about  them  as  imperative  as  is  the  process  of  form- 
ing the  Plot  or  attending  to  any  part  of  the  structure  or 
any  of  the  details  of  the  play.  I  have  called  attention  to  the 
fact  somewhere,  that  this  first  scene,  ending  with  the  Exit 
of  Mildmay,  has  three  incidents  in  it  which  might  afford  a 
division  into  three  scenes.  If,  indeed,  the  purposes  of  the 
author  had  been  different  from  what  they  are,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  make  three  scenes  of  the  first  scene,  although 
both  Mildmay  and  Potter  remain  on  the  stage  and  do  not 
Exit.  Mildmay  was  made  to  simulate  sleep  by  the 
author  in  order  that  he  should  overhear  what  Mrs.  Sternhold 
says  to  Emily  about  him.  Potter  was  kept  on  the  stage, 
really  dozing,  in  order  to  make  the  third  scene,  that  be- 
tween Mrs.  Sternhold  and  Potter,  more  convenient.  Thus 
Exits  and  Entrances  are  provided  against.  The  inexperienc- 
ed writer  could  not  conceive  of  the  annoyance  and  damage 
caused  by  the  too  frequent  coming  and  going  of  Characters. 
Mildmay  having  been  kept  on  the  stage  for  a  purpose  must 
have  an  Exit  provided  for  him.  It  v^^uld  have  been  easy 
enough  to  have  had  Mildmay  drowsily  rub  his  eye  and 
make  his  Exit  with  some  remark.  The  tendency  of 
the  author  who  understands  his  business  is  to  utilize  every 
part  of  his  Material.  In  this  case  he  had  Mildmay  awaken- 
ed by  Emily  in  bringing  down  her  knotted  handkerchief  on 
his  face  to  drive  away  the  wasp.  This  is  purely  Episodical, 
still,  it  keeps  pace  with  the  Action.  It  shows  the  impa- 
tience of  the  wife  who  has  lost  that  reverent  feeling  that 
every  wife  should  have  for  a  true  husband.  But  what  is 
shown  of  her  momentary  disposition  is  purely  incidental. 
The  bit  of  Business  was  devised  almost  purely  and  simply 
in  order  to  afford  Mildmay  his  Exit.  It  works  well,  too,  for 
it  brings  out  the  relations  between  the  two,  and  it  makes 
more  natural  his  statement  that  he  is  going  to  Manchester 
that  night.  Observe  how  every  word  counts.  Emily  ex- 
claims that  he  has  never  said  a  word  about  it  until  now; 
still  keeping  their  relations  in  play.  When  Mildmay  says 
that  he  will  see  her  again  before  he  starts,  we  have  a  prepa- 


ENTRANCES  AND  EXITS  37^"" 

ration  for  his  Entrance  later  on  without  explanation.  You 
will  note  also  that  he  goes  into  the  conservatory.  He  is  in 
no  apparent  haste  for  his  journey.  Some  students,  in  ana- 
lyzing this  scene,  imagine  that  they  see  the  purpose  for 
which  he  is  going  to  Manchester.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  only 
impression  that  an  audience  could  have  would  be  that  he 
may  have  business  of  some  indefinite  kind  at  Manchester, 
and  was  glad  to  get  away  because  of  being  bored  at  home. 
Something  that  drives  many  a  man  from  home,  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  If  any  great  importance  had 
been  attached  at  this  point  to  his  going  to  Manchester,  the 
incident  would  be  out  of  proportion.  You  will  observe 
that  the  author  knew  his  business  purposes  better  than 
the  audience,  or  rather  where  the  audience  did  not,  for  one 
of  his  purposes  in  sending  Mildmay  into  the  conservatory 
was  to  have  him  seen  there  by  Emily  "with  his  coat  off, 
just  like  a  common  market  gardener.  Oh,  what  a  contrast 
to  Hawksley!"  Potter  having  been  retained  on  the  scene, 
but  taking  no  part  in  what  happens  and  what  practically 
constitutes  other  scenes,  is  awakened  by  his  sister.  An  en- 
trance is  saved.  The  object  of  the  scene  being  accomplish- 
ed. Potter  goes  out  with  a  characteristic  remark  showing 
how  he  bows  to  "such  a  superior  woman."  The  first  En- 
trance seen  by  the  audience  is  that  of  Hawksley  who  fol- 
lows Emily  in.  We  have  had  some  concealed  Preparation 
for  what  we  now  see.  The  specific  Preparation  for  Hawks- 
ley's  conduct  consists  in  Emily's  sentimental  comparison  of 
Hawksley  with  her  husband  and  what  is  talked  about  be- 
tween Mrs.  Sternhold  and  Potter.  The  very  moment  he  en- 
ters we  know  who  he  is.  Jessop's  entering  with  the  carpet 
bag  does  not  make  a  new  scene  of  it,  for  it  is  a  part  of  this 
scene  to  have  the  audience  know  that  Mildmay  is  in  the 
garden,  and,  more  than  that,  to  bring  the  fact  to  Hawksley's 
attention  that  Mildmay  is  going  away  that  night,  which  ob- 
viates the  necessity  of  having  Emily  inform  Hawksley  of  it 
in  "Story"  fashion.  It  also  provides  the  Exit  for  Emily  and 
Hawksley  as  may  be  seen  in  Hawksley's  lines  "at  least  let 


372  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC   PRINCIPLE 

US  walk  around  by  the  garden,  I  w^ish  to  congratulate  Mild- 
may  on  his  celery — and  then  it  is  so  much  longer."  Now,  it 
might  seem  to  the  writer  who  does  not  believe  that  play- 
writing  is  an  art,  that  these  Exits  and  this  particular  Exit 
came  into  the  author's  mind  as  naturally  as  they  read.  On 
the  contrary,  although  Taylor  may  have  provided  for  this 
scene  and  its  Sequence  in  his  Scenario,  he  may  not  have  de- 
termined upon  the  method  of  getting  Emily  and  Hawksley 
off.  He  could  have  sent  them  off  by  some  other  door.  It 
is  easy  enough  merely  to  get  characters  off,  but  a  mere 
Exit  or  a  mere  Entrance  is  nothing.  If  it  is  not  done  w.ith 
art,  the  Entrances  and  Exits  are  simply  a  series  of  jolts_^|  If 
he  had  sent  them  out  by  some  other  door  the  effect  would 
not  have  been  the  same.  The  reappearance  and  Exit  of 
Mrs.  Sternhold  is  sufficiently  clear.  Mildmay's  Entrance, 
followed  by  Joseph  with  carpet  bag,  through  center  door  of 
conservatory  is  natural.  When  it  comes  to  weighing  all  the 
little  equations  of  the  play,  one  is  inclined  to  think  that 
there  is  more  artifice  than  art  in  having  Mildmay  come  in 
prepared  for  his  journey  and  to  decide,  because  he  has 
half  an  hour  to  spare,  that  he  will  paint  the  trellis.  He 
sends  Jessop  for  the  ladder  and  begins  to  paint.  Of  course, 
Taylor's  object  was  to  have  Mildmay  overhear  the  conver- 
sation between  Potter  and  Hawksley,  and  incidentally  to 
prepare  for  the  scene  which  follows  when  Mrs.  Sternhold 
and  Emily  join  them.  While  the  artifice  in  having  him 
paint  the  trellis  seems  a  little  crude,  Taylor  does  make  one 
very  strong  point  in  making  it  the  occasion  for  Hawksley's 
"playing  postman."  The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Sternhold  and 
Emily  is  natural,  for  they  have  the  freedom  of  the  house. 
Hawksley  takes  himself  off  in  his  affable  way.  We  see 
through  his  politeness  and  know  that  he  will  return.  Mrs. 
Sternhold  is  got  off  the  stage  because  technical  require- 
ments demand  her  absence.  We  know  that  she  will  return 
to  watch  Hawksley.  The  frequency  of  the  Entrances  and 
Exits  in  this  first  act  almost  reaches  a  danger  point;  still, 
they  are  largely  technical  and  unimportant  except  in  that 


ENTRANCES  AND  EXITS  373 

way.  It  is  necessary  for  Jessop  to  enter  in  order  to  an- 
nounce that  the  cab  is  at  the  door,  so  that  we  can  have  a 
little  scene  between  Mildmay  and  his  wife,  she  showing  her 
uneasiness  at  his  departure.  Potter  has  been  kept  on  the 
stage  and  occupied  sufficiently  to  have  him  ready  for  the 
scene  with  Mildmay  in  which  Hawksley's  shares  are  dis- 
cussed. Potter  goes  out  with  a  characteristic  remark  aside. 
Mildmay  makes  his  Exit  in  order  to  see  Gimlet,  for  he  has 
read  the  letter  delivered  by  Hawksley.  In  this  case,  he 
goes  out  with  a  purpose.  It  is  not  necessary  to  have  Char- 
acters always  go  out  with  a  purpose.  Of  course,  there  is  a 
purpose  somewhere  always,  but  it  is  just  as  often  the  pur- 
pose of  the  author,  that  is  to  say,  of  Technique  as  it  is  of 
Character.  The  purpose  of  the  author  always  exists. 
Emily's  purpose  in  returning  is  to  comfort  Hawksley, 
and,  in  her  feeble  way,  if  he  comes,  to  dissuade  him  from  his 
pursuit.  She  is  forced  to  leave  by  her  Aunt,  and  then 
Mrs.  Sternhold  thinks  she  hears  some  one '  "stirring  over- 
head,'" and  Exits  with  "let  me  see  if  all  is  quiet  up  stairs — 
then  for  you."  This  is  plainly  artificial;  perhaps  the  Exit 
might  have  had  a  better  occasion,  but  it  is  sufficient  now  to 
call  attention  to  the  technical  feature  of  its  handling.  There 
seems  to  be  an  unnecessary  kind  of  Detail  in  the  scene  con- 
sisting of  Mildmay's  monologue  when  he  re-enters,  still, 
Taylor  has  purpose  in  every  line.  There  are  some  points  in 
the  management  of  the  Action  here  that  belong  to  other 
parts  of  our  study ;  we  are  now  considering  merely  how  and 
why  the  Entrances  and  Exits  are  provided.  We  have  been 
thoroughly  prepared  for  the  scene  between  Mrs.  Sternhold 
and  Hawksley.  Mrs.  Sternhold's  absence  from  the  stage 
was  necessary,  for  one  thing,  to  have  her  assure  us  when 
she  returned  that  "all  is  quiet,  my  brother  and  the  servants 
asleep."  The  manner  of  Hawksley's  Exit,  with  his  usual 
composure  and  affability,  need  not  have  been  planned  in  ad- 
vance. It  is  entirely  in  character.  An  Exit  is  provided  for 
Mrs.  Sternhold  in  the  next  scene,  and  one  for  Emily  in  the 
following  one.      Mildmay  has  overheard  the  scene  between 


'374  ANALYSIS   OF  DRAMATIC    PRINCIPIv^ 

Hawksley  and  Mrs.  Sternhold,  his  Entrance  and  remarks 
explaining  themselves.  Mrs.  Mildmay  is  afforded  a  re- 
entrance,  not  from  what  has  gone  before  and  what  would 
give  her  a  purpose  at  once  recognizable  by  the  audience,  but 
in  the  line  which  she  speaks.  She  is  going  to  her  own  room 
in  order  to  get  some  ether  to  compose  the  agitated  Mrs. 
Sternhold.  The  act  closes  according  to  the  requirements  of 
this  scene,  Mildmay  going  up  stage  and  Emily  sinking  into 
a  chair  and  clasping  her  hands.  Mildmay  is  going  off,  and 
the  curtain  comes  down  on  a  tableau. 

Just  as  we  have  seen  that  Dialogue  is  a  matter  of  detail 
in  execution,  depending  upon  the  object  of  the  scene  which 
has  already  been  brought  into  Sequence,  so  you  will  find 
that  an  Exit  or  Entrance  is  also  a  detail  of  the  scene  and 
governed  by  its  opportunities.  The  Exits  and  Entrances 
having  been  foreordained  we  have  only  to  examine  into  the 
details  of  the  Exits  and  Entrances  in  "A  New  Way  to 
Pay  Old  Debts"  in  order  to  note  the  active  use  of 
Technique  in  them.  To  have  a  character  discovered  is 
practically  the  same  thing  as  an  entrance.  Naturally,  a 
character  that  is  discovered  is  usually  occupied  with  some 
business.  We  discover  Wellborn  with  a  large  rough  stick, 
in  tattered  apparel  knocking  at  the  alehouse  door,  Tapwell 
and  Froth  enter  from  the  house.  He  asks  them  for  liquor 
and  is  refused  credit.  Thereafter  the  scene  is  conducted  ac- 
cording to  the  dialogue  already  described  until  Wellborn 
beats  Tapwell  and  Allworth  enters.  The  entrance  of  All- 
worth  requires  no  explanation  because  it  is  a  public  place. 
Why  he  enters  at  this  point  has  already  been  determined  by 
the  dramatist  in  his  structure  of  the  play.  The  occasion  for 
the  going  off  of  Tapwell  and  Froth  is  natural,  for  their  part 
in  the  scene  is  over.  Wellborn  and  Allworth  exeunt  when  the 
purpose  of  their  scene  has  been  accomplished,  Allworth^ 
L.,  Wellborn,  R.  There  is  no  difficulty  and  no  particular 
ingenuity  required  in  getting  people  on  and  off  so  far.  All- 
worth  and  Wellborn  go  off  in  different  directions.  In  the 
second  set  scene,  the  servants  are  discovered  in  line  across 


^NTRANCJ^S  AND  EXITS  375 

the  stage  taking  their  orders  from  Order.  The  scene  is 
broken  up  by  the  knocking  at  the  door  and  the  entrance  of 
Allworth.  Lady  Allworth  enters  with  her  maids.  The 
maids  go  out  on  her  direction  to  them  to  sort  the  silks  well. 
They  have  simply  served  the  purpose  of  showing  the  ample 
service  at  her  disposal.  The  other  servants  go  out  at  Lady 
Allworth's  command.  Lady  Allworth  and  her  stepson  go 
out  naturally  together,  although  the  subject  of  their  conver- 
sation has  been  practically  brought  to  an  end.  The  ser- 
vants enter  again  with  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  Marrall  and 
Greedy.  Wellborn  enters.  His  coming  has  been  tacitly 
prepared  for.  It  may  be  observed  that  the  presence  of  the 
servants  on  the  stage  may  explain  why  this  tattered  man 
has  found  unobstructed  entrance,  but,  in  any  event,  his 
coming  requires  no  explanation  and  is  perfectly  natural.  All 
the  Exits  and  Entrances  here  are  of  a  kind  that  explain 
themselves.  Tom  Allworth  enters,  having  the  freedom  of 
the  house,  and  his  only  salutation  is  to  announce  to  his 
friend  that  they  must  be  strangers,  whereupon  he  goes  out. 
We  have  another  entrance,  almost  as  brief,  of  Abigail  and 
Tabitha  to  show  the  unpropitious  circumstances  and  pro- 
mise of  his  visit.  An  altercation  between  Wellborn  and  the 
servants,  whereupon  they  all  cry  out  for  help,  brings  on 
Lady  Allworth.  Having  given  her  consent  to  further  Well- 
born's  plans,  Lady  Allworth  goes  out.  The  servants  see- 
ing the  favor  into  which  Wellborn  is  received,  make  their 
apologies  and  are  forgiven.  Wellborn  makes  his  Exit  at 
the  close  of  the  scene,  with  the  declaration  of  his  hope  and 
belief  that  he  has  found  a  new  way  to  pay  old  debts.  No 
difficulty  has  been  found  so  far  in  the  management  of  the 
Exits  and  Entrances,  for  the  structure  provides  for  that. 
We  have  not  encountered  any  details  in  which  forced  inge- 
nuity had  to  be  exercised  in  regard  to  the  manner  of  Exits 
and  Entrances,  something  that  lies  so  close  to  the  heart  of 
the  stagemanager.  An  open  field  or  a  public  place  is  very 
often  used  for  the  management  of  Exits  and  Entrances,  for 
no  explanation  of  the  presence  of  the  people  is  required. 


376  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

This  is  the  case  in  the  first  scene  of  the  second  act  where 
enter  Marrall  and  Sir  Giles.  No  Exit  is  required  to  this 
scene,  because  it  is  followed  by  the  scene  caused  by  the  En- 
trance of  Wellborn,  whose  coming  also  requires  no  explana- 
tion. It  is  a  foreordained  thing  according  to  the  construc- 
tion of  the  play.  We  note,  however,  that  a  cause  is  given 
for  the  Exit  of  Sir  Giles.  We  see  from  the  text,  from  Sir  Giles's 
aside  to  Marrall,  that  he  wishes  to  leave  Wellborn  with  him 
in  order  that  Marrall  can  "work  him."  The  bearing  of  this  we 
know  from  the  previous  scene  between  Sir  Giles  and  Mar- 
rall. The  scene  closes  with  Marrall  and  Wellborn  going  off 
together,  Marrall  believing  that  Wellborn's  brain  is  cracked, 
from  the  story  which  Wellborn  tells  him  of  Lady  All- 
worth's  favor.  Wellborn's  Entrance  with  Marrall  in  the 
hall  of  Lady  Allworth's  house  is  self-explanatory.  The 
servants  disperse  at  the  command  of  Order,  when  a  knock- 
ing is  heard.  We  learn  that  they  know  their  cue,  and  Order 
and  Amble  remain  in  order  to  give  Wellborn  his  courteous 
reception.  AUworth  who  is  on  the  stage  at  the  opening  of 
this  new  scene  goes  out,  for  he  has  made  his  apology  to 
Wellborn.  Nothing  further  is  required  of  him,  and  the 
whole  significance  of  his  presence  was  satisfied  with  his 
apology.  The  Exits  and  Entrances  proceed  naturally,  each 
scene  accomplishing  its  object.  Lady  All  worth  enters  to 
carry  out  her  deception  and  take  Marrall  with  them  to  the 
dinner  which  is  waiting.  The  servants  discuss  the  strange 
turn  of  affairs,  and  Furnace  goes  out  after  Amble  has  re- 
ported to  them  the  incidents  of  the  dinner  and  that  they 
have  risen.  They  leave  the  stage  free  to  Lady  Allworth, 
Wellborn  and  Marrall.  Wellborn  and  Marrall  go  out  at- 
tended by  Watchall,  who  evidently  is  to  see  them  off  with 
a  show  of  service.  Lady  Allworth  takes  the  servants  off  to 
give  them  further  directions.  In  all  these  Exits  and  En- 
trances there  is  a  naturalness  and  a  reason.  Massinger 
used  many  scenes  in  public  places,  the  third  set  scene  being 
in  the  open  country.  Wellborn  and  Marrall  are  returning 
from  the  dinner.    The  object  of  the  scene  is  to  impress  on 


ENTRANCES  AND  EXITS  Z17~ 

Marrall  Wellborn's  prospects  with  Lady  Allworth;  and 
Wellborn  exits  with  a  veiled  promise  to  favor  a  certain  peti- 
tion of  Marrairs.  When  Marrall  is  left  alone  Sir  Giles  is 
heard  without  ordering  some  attendant  to  take  his  horse. 
This  is  the  first  time  so  far,  except  for  the  knocking  at  the 
door,  that  we  have  had  any  example  of  immediate  technical 
preparation.  Here  we  have  the  noise  "heard  without,"  giv- 
ing specific  directions,  and  the  reason  why  he  will  walk :  "to 
give  me  an  appetite ;  'tis  but  a  mile ;  and  exercise  will  keep 
me  from  being  pursy."  It  will  be  observed  that  in  the  other 
entrance  of  Sir  Giles  explanation  was  not  necessary;  here 
Massinger  deemed  it  proper  to  account  for  his  presence  in 
"the  open  country."  Observe  that  he  did  not  appear  at  this 
moment  purposely  in  order  to  discuss  with  Marrall  what 
Marrall  had  been  able  to  do  in  further  humiliating  and 
ruining  Wellborn.  The  marvelous  story  that  Marrall  tells 
him  is  regarded  by  Sir  Giles  as  the  fiction  of  a  lying  or  dis- 
ordered brain,  and  he  beats  the  servant,  upon  which  they  go 
out.  With  the  first  set  scene  of  the  third  act  we  again  have 
a  scene  in  the  open  country,  or,  as  it  is  described,  the  out- 
skirts of  Lady  Allworth's  Park.  Here  again  there  is  some 
explanation  needed  as  seemed  meet  to  Massinger,  for  Lord 
Lovell  has  come  from  a  distance ;  he  is  travelling.  His  pres- 
ence would  not  be  self-explanatory  as  in  the  other  cases 
which  we  have  seen.  As  he  enters,  Lord  Lovell  speaks  off, 
"drive  the  coach  around  the  hill,  something  in  private  I 
must  impart  to  Allworth ;"  there  we  have  at  once  the  gen- 
eral object  of  the  scene.  We  have  the  natural  and  the  tech- 
nical explanation  of  the  Entrance.  They  go  off  naturally 
without  the  need  of  any  device  in  the  Dialogue,  when  the 
object  of  the  scene  is  accomplished.  The  second  set  scene 
is  in  the  hall  of  Sir  Giles's  house.  We  already  know  that 
Sir  Giles's  plan  is  to  entertain  Lord  Lovell  and  secure  him 
as  a  husband  for  his  daughter.  The  purpose  of  the  gather- 
ing in  the  hall  is  immediately  seen.  Sir  Giles's  first  words 
indicate  that  a  feast  is  preparing.  Marrall's  exit  is  caused 
by  Sir  Giles's  order  to  him  to  call  in  his  daughter.    Greedy 


378  ANAIvYSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

is  got  off  the  stage  by  having  the  command  of  the  kitchen 
bestowed  on  him.  Margaret  enters,  brought  in  by  Marrall 
and  accompanied  by  two  female  attendants.  The  female 
attendants  are  sent  out  by  Sir  Giles  because  he  wishes  to 
speak  with  her  alone.  It  will  be  seen  that  there  is  a  cause 
for  all  these  Exits  and  Entrances.  There  was  a  cause  in  the 
dramatist's  mind  for  the  two  attendant  women  to  appear  for 
the  single  moment.  It  will  be  seen  that  one  of  Sir  Giles's 
first  enquiries  to  her  is  "How  like  you  your  new  woman, 
Lady  Downfallen?"  We  then  have  several  immediate  di- 
versions by  Greedy,  his  Exits  and  Entrances  being  pro- 
vided for  purely  by  the  comic  opportunities.  Of  course,  the 
comedy  furnished  by  Greedy  has  no  direct  bearing  on  the 
Plot,  his  coming  and  going  is  not  advancing  the  main  Ac- 
tion in  the  slightest  way,  and  his  relations  with  the  very  se- 
rious scenes  between  Sir  Giles  and  Margaret  are  purely  by 
way  of  diversion,  and  not  by  any  influence  on  the  Action 
itself.  V  It  is  well  to  observe  at  once  that  Exits  and  En- 
^  ytrances  are  not  necessarily  made  to  concern  the  Plot.  Char- 
A^  acters  necessarily  are  utterly  unconscious  of  any  Plot,  cer- 
tainly of  the  author's  Plot.  These  Entrances  and  Exits  of 
Greedy  are  incidents  or  comic  scenes  which  are  purely  Epi- 
sodic. It  is  not  altogether  the  place  to  discuss  the  functions 
of  Greedy  in  this  play,  but  it  is  well  to  observe  at  this  point 
that  we  are  always  conscious  that  this  comedy  glutton 
serves  a  purpose  in  the  extortionate  and  heartless  plans  of 
Sir  Giles  in  crushing  his  hapless  victims.  It  may  be  ob- 
served of  the  Exits  and  Entrances  of  Greedy,  that  the 
scenes  being  purely  comedy  scenes,  the  Exits  and  En- 
trances are  made  on  comedy  lines.  He  always  enters  with 
a  complaint,  and  goes  out  with  some  reflection  bearing  on 
what  is  uppermost  in  his  mind  at  the  time,  namely,  the  din- 
ner which  is  in  his  charge.  Marrall  enters  hastily,  to  an- 
nounce the  arrival  of  Lord  Lovell.  Margaret  goes  out,  be- 
ing bid  by  her  father  to  await  his  call.  Marrall  is  sent  out 
by  Sir  Giles  to  give  a  princely  welcome  to  Lord  Lovell.  The 
Exits  and  Entrances  led  to  thereafter  are  caused  naturally; 


ENTRANCES  AND  EXITS  379 

Sir  Giles  bids  Greedy,  Marrall  and  Allworth  leave  the 
room  so  that  he  and  Margaret  may  be  alone  with  Lord 
Lovell.  With  a  whispered  word  of  caution  to  Margaret, 
Sir  Giles  leaves  her  with  Lord  Lovell.  Sir  Giles  re-enters 
and  from  their  whisperings  imagines  that  she  has  carried 
out  his  instructions.  Greedy  enters  at  this  moment  in  great 
excitement  and  is  thrust  off  by  Sir  Giles.  There  are  twenty- 
five  or  more  Exits  and  Entrances  in  this  second  set  scene. 
Except  where  the  Action  is  very  lively  and  the  scenes  are 
very  distinct,  and  the  current  of  the  Action  very  strong, 
this  number  reaches  a  danger  point.  But,  as  we  have  seen, 
many  of  the  Exits  and  Entrances  constitute  little  Episodic 
scenes.  This  is  the  case  with  Greedy's  numerous  Exits  and 
Entrances.  It  must  be  remembered  that  his  little  Episodes 
pay  for  themselves  in  the  diversion  that  they  afford,  and 
that  they  are  really  about  the  same  thing,  his  appetite,  the 
development  of  his  character.  If  these  Exits  and  Entrances 
concerned  the  development  of  the  Plot,  there  certainly 
would  be  too  many  in  number.  But  the  mind  of  the  audi- 
ence is  not  burdened  by  new  complications,  and,  after  all, 
the  Plot  of  this  second  set  scene  is  simple  enough.  We  call 
attention  to  the  unusual  number  of  Exits  and  Entrances 
here  because,  in  a  general  way,  it  is  very  important  not  to 
have  too  many  of  them,  and  we  wish  to  explain  why  it  is 
that  Massinger,  a  master  of  his  craft,  has  not  erred  or 
brought  things  into  confusion  by  a  multiplicity  of  Exits 
and  Entrances.  Exits  and  Entrances  usually  determine  the 
boundaries  of  a  scene,  but  here  we  have  seen  what  may  be 
termed  separate  scenes  having  no  disturbing  effect.  \^  The 
Entrance  of  Lady  Allworth  has  some  immediate  Prepara- 
tion in  the  announcement  of  her  arrival  and  the  commotion 
among  the  servants  without.  That  she  should  come  is  per- 
fectly natural  and  needs  no  explanation.  It  was  necessary 
by  way  of  Preparation  to  have  the  audience  know  that  she 
was  coming.  Wellborn  is  now  on  his  old  footing  with  Sir 
Giles,  and  they  go  out  to  dinner.  Greedy  is  astonished  at 
Sir  Giles's  reception  of  Wellborn,  remains  behind  a  moment 


380  ANAI.YSIS  0^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

to  express  his  astonishment  to  himself,  and  then  starts  to 
go  to  his  much  anticipated  dinner.  Marrall  re-enters  to 
bear  to  him  the  message  from  Sir  Giles  that  the  table  is  full 
and  he  must  wait.  Marrall  goes  out  after  comforting  him 
with  the  direction  to  proceed  to  the  servants'  hall,  where 
he  can  have  dumpling,  woodcock  and  buttered  toast  with 
the  maids.  Greedy  goes  out  in  pursuit  of  dinner.  Sir  Giles 
re-enters,  expressing  himself  as  confident  that  his  daughter 
has  captured  Lord  Lovell.  Marrall  comes  to  seek  him  be- 
cause the  whole  board  is  troubled  at  his  rising  and  his  ab- 
sence, and  goes  out  at  his  bidding  to  invite  his  nephew  to 
speak  with  him  in  private.  Everything  is  so  natural  so  far, 
in  that  every  Exit  and  Entrance  has  a  cause  or  promises 
further  developments,  that  no  artifice  is  visible  whatever, 
for  everything  belongs  to  the  very  nature  of  the  happen- 
ings. Lady  Allworth  is  heard  speaking  without  as  she  re- 
turns. Marrall  is  sent  out  by  Sir  Giles.  The  act  closes 
with  Wellborn  and  Sir  Giles  going  out  in  diflferent  direc- 
tions, the  final  word  being  the  apt  conclusion  of  the  object 
of  the  scene.  It  will  be  observed  that  as  the  act  closes  in 
these  older  plays,  the  characters  are  usually  seen  going  off. 
While  there  is  no  reason  in  many  of  these  cases  why  they 
should  go  off,  there  is  not  always  a  reason  why  it  would  be 
better  that  they  remain;  but  it  seems  to  be  the  custom 
among  the  older  dramatists  to  so  take  them  off  at  the  end  of 
an  act,  in  all  probability,  because  of  the  stage  management 
in  which  drop  curtains  were  not  used.  At  any  rate,  the 
close  of  an  act  in  those  older  plays  seemed  to  be  indicated 
by  the  stage  being  cleared  in  this  way.  With  scene  one  of 
Act  four,  we  have  characters  discovered.  Business  being 
employed  to  give  immediate  Action. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


EPISODE. 

In  every  play  there  is  a  great  deal  that  is  in  the  nature  of 
Episode,  Episodic ;  and  there  is  a  tendency  in  modern  play- 
writing,  particularly  comedy,  to  introduce  Episode.  The 
scene  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  in  which  Melnotte' 
disposes  of  the  ring  and  the  snuffbox  is  distinct 
Episode.  All  Episode  should,  in  some  way,  belong 
to  the  Action,  and  this  Episode  is  plainly  connected  with 
the  Plot.  The  whispering  dismay  of  Beauseant  and  Glavis 
serves  to  arouse  the  suspicions  of  Damas.  At  first  we  do 
not  see  this  object  in  the  scene,  but  are  exclusively  inter- 
ested in  the  humor  of  the  incident.  It  is  a  relaxation  of  the 
tensity  of  the  Action.  For  a  moment,  we  are  not  conscious 
of  a  Plot  at  all.  The  little  scene  at  the  opening  of  the  third 
act  is  episodic,  but  a  necessary  part  of  the  Action  by  way  of 
gradation.  The  act  might  have  opened  with  Beauseant  and 
Glavis.  Their  talk  of  Pauline  being  at  that  moment  at  the 
inn  would  have  conveyed  the  Fact,  but  more  is  to  be  look- 
his  mother,  in  which  he  describes  his  love  for  Pauline,  is 
to  complain  presently  of  the  rudeness  of  the  servants,  and 
the  servants  are  to  be  seen  peering  over  the  landlord's 
shoulders  and  laughing.  The  first  scene  then  is  Prepara- 
tion for  what  we  are  to  see  confirmed.  Melnotte's  talk  with 
his  mother  in  which  he  describes  his  love  for  Pauline  is 
something  in  the  nature  of  Episode.  We  know  that  he  loves 
her,  that  he  has  sent  her  flowers,  but  there  is  something 
new  in  it,  in  that  he  has  sent  verses  to  Pauline  and  awaits 
her  answer,  believing  that  he  will  be  answered  as  was  the 
"poor  Troubadour"  by  the  Queen  of  Navarre.  Consequent- 
ly, there  is  Action  here  and  not  a  mere  state  of  mind.  It  is 
Episodic  that  Melnotte  has  won  the  prize.  It  is  a  rifle,  and 
he  did  not  miss  one  shot  in  the  contest.  Episodic  as  the 
rifle  is,  it  is  more  to  the  purpose  than  if  he  had  won  a  med- 


X. 


382  ANALYSIS  O^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

al.  Observe  the  magnetic  tendency  of  Action  in  such  de- 
tails. After  Caspar  enters  we  have  a  kind  of  radio-activity 
that  removes  the  scene  very  far  from  Episode.  True,  Gas- 
par  does  not  appear  again,  and  this  is  the  only  time  we  do 
see  him,  and  he  may  be  called  an  Episodic  character,  but 
the  scene  is  one  of  intense  Action  and  closely  connected 
with  the  Plot  Action. 

"Camille"  affords  a  good  study  of  the  Episodic.  More 
than  four  fifths  of  the  last  act  is  made  up  of  Scenes  which 
are  Episode  pure  and  simple.  In  a  play  in  which  the  senti- 
ment is  so  compact  and  so  individually  pertinent,  there  is 
no  occasion  for  that  trickery  in  this  matter  of  Episode  which 
is  often  used  to  fill  out  an  insubstantial  play.  The  Unity  of 
sentiment  is  so  persuasive  that  not  a  particle  of  matter  is 
either  lost  or  out  of  place.  A  true  Episode  does  not  destroy 
or  impair  the  Unity  of  a  play.  The  first  scene  which  is  dis- 
tinctly an  Episode  is  the  supper  scene.  We  have  explain- 
ed why  it  belongs  to  the  Action,  and  it  is  to  be  noted  that 
the  scene  in  and  for  itself  is  diverting  and  stands  out  in  its 
own  right.  When  we  come  to  the  gambling  scene  in  the 
fourth  act,  we  find  that  the  game  between  Armand  and 
Varville  is  an  absolutely  interesting  diversion.  It  had  to  be 
made  an  Episode,  for  its  purpose  was  to  furnish  Armand 
with  the  money  by  which  the  close  of  the  act  was  to  be 
made  Objective  by  means  of  his  showering  his  gains  upon 
Camille  as  an  expression  of  his  contempt  for  her  sordidness. 
The  Episode  illustrates  the  nature  of  the  Indirect. 
Armand,  in  his  state  of  mind,  might  easily  have  gone  direct- 
ly to  the  purpose  of  his  presence  at  the  ball  and  brought  to 
an  issue  his  quarrel  with  Varville.  That  would  have  been  a 
clumsy  dramatic  method  for  the  author,  for  he  had  two  ob- 
jects in  the  act,  namely,  that  Armand  should  humiliate  Ca- 
mille and  that  he  should  pick  his  quarrel  with  Varville. 
Just  as  soon  as  the  Action  gathered  itself  into  the  supreme 
moment  in  which  this  was  accomplished,  it  ceased  to  be 
Episode.     Episode,  then,  is  a  secondary  thing  by  means 


EPISODE  383 

of  which  an  object  is  entirely  reached.  If  is  often  required 
to  show  a  state  of  emotion  out  of  which  direct  Action  is  to 
proceed.  It  is  something  that  holds  the  note ;  by  means  of 
it  we  dwell  upon  sentiment  and  present  conditions.  It  is' 
something  apart  from  the  main  Action,  and  it  serves  to  \ 
bring  out  character  and  relations.  It  must  contain  Action 
in  itself,  and  have  some  relation  to  the  main  Action,  but  it ' 
is  so  interesting  in  itself,  that  the  main  Action  is  held  in 
abeyance.  /Thus,  in  the  last  act,  we  see  Gaston  elevated  to 
a  pathetic  nobility  of  character,  fitting  him  for  companion- 
ship with  Camille  in  her  moments  of  refined  distress  which 
touch  every  heart.  Certainly  nothing  could  be  more  Epi- 
sodic than  Prudence's  borrowing  the  money.  The  scene 
cannot  possibly  effect  the  destiny  of  the  regenerated  wo- 
man. No  deflection  is  made  in  the  course  of  events;  but 
there  is  a  touch  of  nature  in  it  that  is  needed  to  bring  out 
the  conditions  of  the  Plot  at  this  point.  If  we  measure  the 
Action  by  the  emotion,  there  is  very  strong  Action  in  it, 
but  it  is  all  remote  from  Plot  Action,  although  it  is  of  a 
piece  with  the  development  and  rounding  off  of  the  general 
Action. 

We  shall  now  call  attention  to  the  little  details  of 
Dialogue,  and  the  relations  of  the  characters  which  may  be 
described  as  Episodic  in  mature.  This  aspect  of  the  Epi- 
sodic as  we  again  see,  is  closely  allied  with  the  Indirect, 
and  it  is  to  be  found  constantly  in  the  dialogue  and  can  be 
handled  best  by  the  dramatist  skilled  in  Technique.  In  this 
way,  the  second  scene  of  the  first  act,  in  which  Nichette  is 
introduced,  is  Episodic.  Nothing  whatever  comes  of  the 
immediate  personal  object  of  her  visit.  It  is  closely  con- 
nected with  and  is  a  part  of  the  condition  of  affairs,  but  it 
is  not  absolutely  needed  for  the  development  of  the  imme- 
diate events  of  the  play  except  by  way  of  convenience.  The 
idea  of  Episode  involves  the  happenings  during  the  prog- 
ress of  the  Action  only.  If  Armand  had  been  killed  in  the 
duel  the  true  Action  of  the  play  would  have  come  to  an  end. 
The  fourth  act  might  have  been  added  as  an  Epilogue; 


384  ANALYSIS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

but  its  interest  could  not  have  been  sustained  to  the  same 
extent.  In  the  Episode  of  Prudence's  borrowing  the  mo- 
ney, the  Action  is  not  yet  over,  and  while  we  may  be  amus- 
ed at  the  rapacity  of  this  creature,  we  are  saddened  by  the 
proof  it  gives  of  the  hollowness  of  all  the  friendships  enjoy- 
ed by  Camille  except  the  few  that  prove  true  at  the  close. 
Thus,  the  scene  or  the  Episode  has  a  real  importance  with 
reference  to  Camille.  It  belongs  to  the  Action  such  as  it  is. 
It  rounds  off  the  history  of  Prudence  and  her  relations  with 
the  Action.  It  is  true  that  this  Episode  could  be  omitted 
without  impairing  in  the  slightest  degree  the  Plot  of  the 
play,  but  drama,  in  its  emancipated  estate  of  the  present 
day,  indulges  us  graciously  by  not  making  such  a  deterrent 
rule  as  is  sought  to  be  imposed  by  some  dramatic  grammar- 
ians. It  must  necessarily  be  subordinate,  for  if  out  of  pro- 
portion it  would  be  a  disturbing  element. 

Episode  has  always  been  in  use,  but  it  has  grown  in  im- 
portance and  application  as  the  art  has  widened,  and  as  it 
has  thrown  off  the  rigid  limitations  of  what  is  specifically 
known  as  the  classic  drama.  In  plays  of  domestic  life  and 
of  character.  Episode  necessarily  plays  a  considerable  part. 
"Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  is  a  play  of  domestic  life  and  of 
Character,  but  it  is  not  so  marked  by  the  use  of  Episode  as 
it  is  of  Detail.  It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  different 
plays  do  not  necessarily  furnish  the  same  amount  of  illus- 
tration of  any  given  principle.  The  very  first  scene  in  this 
V  play  is  in  the  nature  of  the  Episodic,  for  much  of  its  Mate- 
\  rial,  such  as  the  use  made  of  the  music  and  the  discussion 
about  it,  is  confined  to  the  scene  and  may  be  described  as 
parenthetical.  We  will  not  now  dwell  upon  what  is  "in  the 
nature  of  the  Episodic,"  but  will  point  out  the  few  instances 
of  Episode  in  the  play.  The  little  scene  between  Mrs.  Mild- 
may  and  Mrs.  Sternhold  in  which  the  aunt  describes  the 
character  and  stupidity  of  Mildmay,  is  Episodic,  because  it  is 
merely  a  parenthesis  in  the  scene  within  which  it  is  a  scene. 
There  is  no  immediate  new  development  from  it,  and  it 
comes  into  active  use  later  on  when  Mildmay  reminds  Mrs. 


episode;  385 

Sternhold  of  her  expression  of  opinion  of  him.  Emily's 
knotting  her  handkerchief  and  bringing  it  down  smartly  on 
Mildmay's  face  is  Episodic,  for  its  use  is  not  to  advance  the 
Action  of  the  play,  but  to  afford  an  exit.  It  is  an  Episodic 
incident  when  Mildmay  is  discovered  on  the  ladder,  with 
the  result  that  there  is  an  incidental  conversation.!  The 
final  scene  in  the  act  itself  is  something  of  an  Episode.  It 
brings  the  curtain  down  on  a  situation  from  which  we  ex- 
pect no  immediate  collision  between  Mildmay  and  Hawks- 
ley,  although  the  scene  has  an  apparent  bearing  at  times  to- 
ward such  an  issue.  In  the  second  act,  the  scene  between 
Dunbilk  and  Hawksley  is  Episodic,  because  it  is  mainly  pre- 
paratory, and  would  not  necessarily  have  to  be  enumerated 
in  the  Plot  Action.  Hawksley's  demonstration,  by  means  of 
algebra,  of  the  scientific  nature  of  his  new  motive  principle 
is  Episodic,  because  it  goes  beyond  the  actual  requirements 
of  the  Plot  Action  and  is  meant  for  the  purpose  of  impress- 
ing character.  In  the  reading,  the  scene  seems  to  impress 
many  students  as  being  too  long,  but  it  was  written  by  an 
author  who  knew  his  business  and  the  effects  he  wished  to 
produce,  and  it  is  likely  that  in  the  acting  there  is  not  a 
word  too  much.  The  Action  of  the  play  is  so  compact  that 
it  does  not  afiford  us  that  study  of  Episode  which  can  be 
more  profitably  pursued  in  certain  other  plays. 
■"  "A  New  Way  To  Pay  Old  Debts"  is  strong  at  all 
points,  and  in  no  particular  does  Massinger  manifest  his  art 
more  beautifully  than  his  management  of  the  Episodes.  An 
Episode  must  necessarily  be  diverting,  for  it  is  usually  a 
relaxation  of  the  main  Action,  affording  a  period  of  rest  or 
diversion.  It  gives  variety,  like  the  dactyl  to  the  spondee 
in  verse.  When  the  Action  is  tense  there  is  no  time  for  it. 
It  should  be  a  part  of  the  Action,  but  not  necessarily  of  the 
Action  of  the  Plot.  Its  immediate  purpose  may  be  for  the 
development  of  character  or  by  way  of  preparation  or  for 
bringing  out  elements  which  are  required  by  and  for  the  Ac- 
tion. It  takes  away  strained  attention  to  the  mechanism  of 
the  play.    By  means  of  it  there  is  an  indirect  progress.    The 

25 


386  ANAI^YSIS  0]P  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPI.]^ 

first  scene  in  this  play  that  is  a  distinct  Episode  is  where, 
in  the  second  set  scene,  the  servants  are  discovered  in  the 
hall  of  Lady  Allworth's  house,  drawn  up  in  a  line  across  the 
stage.  So  far  as  the  Action  of  the  play  is  concerned  we 
see  only  a  condition  of  affairs.  We  are  interested,  it  is  true, 
in  the  proof  of  the  fact  that  Lady  Allworth  keeps  herself  in 
seclusion,  that  she  lives  in  state,  and  that  these  are  her  ser- 
vants, but  apart  from  that  we  do  not  see  and  do  not  have  to 
see  the  purpose  of  the  author.  We  have  not  the  slightest 
hint  that  these  servants  are  to  be  used  to  bar  the  entrance 
of  Wellborn.  Massinger  could  easily  have  made  it  known 
to  us  that  Wellborn  was  going  to  present  himself,  but,  in 
that  event,  the  Action  of  the  scene  would  have  been  very 
much  disturbed ;  instead  of  an  Episode,  it  would  have  been 
a  scene  of  the  Action  proper.  It  would  have  had  a  turn 
whereby  the  arrogance  of  the  servants  would  have  concern- 
ed Wellborn  and  our  expectation  would  have  been  aroused 
as  to  the  reception  they  would  give  him.  On  the  contrary, 
the  scene  or  Episode  is  about  something  entirely  indepen- 
dent of  Wellborn.  These  servants  do  not  mention  him ;  the 
audience  hardly  thinks  of  him.  To  have  had  it  otherwise 
would  have  made  the  Action  too  rigid.  Our  attention 
would  not  be  so  completely  absorbed  by  the  drolleries  of 
the  servants.  As  it  is,  we  get  Furnace  who  is  to  serve  as  a 
foil  to  Greedy.  We  get  an  independent  Action,  something 
that  keeps  the  scene  moving  with  a  story  of  its  own.  There 
is  a  quarrel  between  Furnace  and  Amble,  with  Order  trying 
to  compose  it.  There  is  nothing  to  cause  us  to  expect  any- 
thing that  will  bear  on  the  Plot  Action.  Everything  is  set- 
tled within  the  scene.  Conditions  only  are  established.  It 
is  easy  enough  to  see  that  it  is  an  Episode,  pure  and  simple. 
But  we  want  to  discover  more  than  this  by  our  analysis. 
Why  did  Massinger  use  the  Episode?  What  was  the  ope- 
ration of  his  mind?  Where  did  he  get  it  from?  What  is 
the  necessity  of  it?  It  came  from  the  Material.  He  wished 
to  make  use  of  it  in  some  way.  It  was  too  good  to  throw 
away.    He  had  to  connect  what  they  said  and  did  with  the 


b;pisode;  387 

events  and  characters  of  the  play.  After  the  servants  are 
introduced  in  this  Episodic  way  they  are  active  enough  in 
succeeding  scenes.  It  was  the  only  place  or  the  best  place 
to  make  us  acquainted  with  them.  If  they  had  been  repre- 
sented as  throwing  dice  or  devising  means  of  cheating  their 
mistress,  it  would  have  been  a  false  Episode.  It  would  have 
been  foreign  to  the  Action,  whereas  it  is  now  a  piece  of  it. 
It  joins  it  later  on  serviceably.  We  are  sufficiently  inter- 
ested already  in  Lady  Allworth  to  be  diverted  by  what  the 
servants  say  and  do  in  this  scene.  The  scene  between  Tom 
Allworth  and  Lady  Allworth  is  distinctly  not  an  Episode, 
for  we  see  a  turn  in  the  Action  bearing  on  the  Plot.  She 
warns  him  against  his  friend  whom  he  had  offered  to  assist 
and  whom  he  assured  of  a  welcome  at  her  hands.  The 
movement  of  the  play  turns  aside  to  Episode  again  when 
Greedy  gets  our  attention  when  Sir  Giles  visits  the  house 
of  Lady  Allworth.  There  is  a  certain  amount  of  Action  in 
it,  for  we  see  the  character  of  the  man,  already  described  as 
the  tool  of  Sir  Giles.  We  are  amused  at  the  Episode,  but 
we  do  not  forget  the  use  to  which  Greedy  is  put.  It  is  Epi- 
sodic when  Abigail  and  Tabitha  express  their  repugnance 
to  Wellborn,  such  a  wretched  object,  that  thing.  It  is  some- 
thing that  adds  to  the  impression.  Leave  it  out,  and  the 
Plot  Action  would  still  be  there.  But  do  we  not  feel  that 
they  will  report  to  their  mistress?  Are  we  not  willing  to 
see  all  the  circumstances  of  the  reception  of  Wellborn? 
Would  not  the  Action  be  very  bare  if  the  servants  at  once 
proceeded  to  attempt  to  throw  Wellborn  out?  The  scene 
between  Wellborn  and  Lady  Allworth  is  distinctly  not  an 
Episode,  nor  was  it  an  Episode  when  the  struggle  with  the 
servants  brought  out  their  mistress.  The  Cause  and  the 
Effect  made  the  cogs  revolve.  When  the  end  of  the  scene 
between  Wellborn  and  Lady  Allworth  is  reached  a  most 
important  step  forward  had  been  taken.  The  first  part  of 
the  scene  opening  the  second  act  is  Episode,  and  has  indi- 
rect Action,  but  the  direct  Action  does  not  begin  until 
Wellborn  is  referred  to.    This  is  our  first  absolute  confirma- 


A 


388  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

tion  of  the  merciless  character  of  Sir  Giles.  We  are  glad  to 
stop  long  enough  to  take  a  good  look  at  him,  his  schemes 
interest  us,  for  we  know  their  indirect  bearing  on  his 
nephew  whom  we  have  seen  him  spurn,  and  whom  we 
know  he  has  defrauded.  We  would  take  little  interest  in 
Master  Frugal's  history  if  we  were  not  interested  in  the 
designs  of  the  cruel  extortioner  against  his  nephew.  Sir 
Giles  would  be  a  mere  melodramatic  villain  if  we  did  not 
have  these  sidelights.  We  get  his  character  at  first  hand, 
and  by  means  of  the  Episode.  How  else  could  these  inci- 
dental facts  have  been  introduced  so  conveniently  and  ef- 
fectively ?/  Transpose  the  first  part  of  this  scene  to  the  last 
and  the  effectiveness  of  the  Episodic  part  of  it  would  be  lost. 
Pity  is  excited  for  Frugal,  whom  we  hear  of,  passingly,  for 
the  first  time,  but  the  chief  interest  is  in  the  development  of 
the  cruel  methods  of  Sir  Giles  and  the  use  made  of  Greedy 
and  of  Marrall,  all  having  a  bearing  on  Wellborn.  The  first 
part  of  the  scene,  then,  is  Episodic,  but  it  has  a  closer  and 
more  varied  connection  with  the  Action  than  the  scene  be- 
tween the  servants.  The  use  of  the  servants  now  becomes 
less  and  less  Episodic.  Amble's  description  of  the  conduct 
of  Marrall  at  the  table  is  Episodic,  but  actively  Episodic.  It 
is  such  scenes  that  may  well  be  described  as  adverbial  or 
qualifying,  that  give  breadth  and  life  to  the  Action.  From 
now  on  the  Episodes  and  the  Action  proper  never  lose  sight 
of  Sir  Giles  and  the  principal  characters.  Even  in  such  an 
Episode  as  that  which  opens  the  third  act  we  are  in  the 
midst  of  the  Action  of  the  play.  The  banquet  is  preparing 
for  the  reception  of  Lord  Lovell  at  Sir  Giles's  house.  All 
that  Greedy  says  and  does  in  such  a  diverting  way  is  Epi- 
sode. You  may  ask  of  what  use?  See  it  acted  and  you  will 
not  question  the  skill  and  purpose  of  Massinger.  Does  he 
disturb  the  Action  or  progress  of  the  play  ?  Not  at  all.  He 
exasperates  Sir  Giles,  but  we  expect  nothing  from  his 
mouthings  about  food.  Besides,  it  is  largely  Preparation 
for  that  most  delightful,  pure  Episode  in  which  Marrall  an- 
nounces to  Greedy  that  he  must  eat  below  with  the  maids. 


Was  it  not  worth  while  to  have  him  interrupt  such  import- 
ant scenes  of  the  Action  proper  as  he  did  in  order  to  get 
Episode  of  the  kind  ?  Of.  course,  there  was  no  other  pur- 
pose in  Massinger's  mindj  Must  you  always  be  looking  for 
Plot  purpose  in  everything  that  is  done  and  said?  That 
tendency  to  the  making  of  rigid  Plots  makes  the  plotty 
play — an  abomination.  Certainly  there  are  some  subjects 
that  admit  of  less  Episode  than  others.  The  more  Plotty 
the  less  Episode,  as  a  rule.  There  is  no  room  for  it,  but 
here  is  a  rather  complicated  Plot,  with  a  great  deal  of  Epi- 
sode. It  is  here  certainly  a  mark  of  mastery.  The  oppor- 
tunity for  Episode  comes  from  the  preponderance  of  char- 
acter in  the  play.  Massinger  does  not  labor  over  the  com- 
plications in  forgetfulness  of  opportunities  for  diversion. 
In  the  Greedy  Episodes  we  feel  that  the  "thin  gutted 
squire"  is  less  the  fool  and  cormorant  than  Sir  Giles  him- 
self; besides,  there  should  be  some  relief  from  the  sombre- 
ness  of  the  villainy  of  the  master,/  Some  students  of  this 
play  do  not  seem  to  recognize  the  effectiveness  and  artistic 
value  of  the  Greedy  Episodes.  Make  a  good  study  of  it. 
Episode  is  getting  to  be  of  more  and  more  value  and  use  as 
our  drama  develops.  It  is  almost  pure  Episode  where  Well- 
born pays  his  creditors  back,  in  one  way  or  another.  It 
does  not  advance  the  Action  of  the  Plot  with  any  quick 
movement.  It  does  prove  that  Wellborn  has  been  put  on 
his  feet  again  by  his  Uncle,  who  is  moved  to  do  so  because 
he  thinks  Wellborn  is  about  to  marry  Lady  AUworth.  It 
also  strengthens  Marrall's  belief  in  the  growing  power  of 
Wellborn,  so  that  we  are  prepared  for  his  confiding  to 
Wellborn  the  "weighty  secret"  that  Sir  Giles  is  going  to 
demand  security  from  him,  which  is  followed  by  the  advice 
that  Wellborn  urge  Sir  Giles  to  produce  the  deed.  The  Epi- 
sode leads  up  to  Action,  the  kind  that  turns  the  wheels. 
Again  observe  how  interesting  in  themselves  are  all  the 
Episodes  of  this  character.  The  fifth  and  last  act  is  with- 
out distinct  Episodes. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


SCENERY. 

The  use  of  three  Set  Scenes  in  the  first  act  of  "The  Lady 
of  Lyons,"  two  in  the  third  and  two  in  the  fifth,  might  be 
called  "old-fashioned,"  but  any  other  arrangement  might 
have  hampered  the  treatment  of  this  particular  Material. 
No  valid  objection  can  be  made  to  the  Division.  The  Ac- 
tion requires  the  localities.  Two  scenes  were  inevitable, 
the  interior  of  Pauline's  home  and  that  of  Melnotte's.  The 
exterior  of  the  village  inn  was  chosen  rather  than  the  inter- 
ior. The  exterior  of  the  house  of  the  Deschappelles  gives 
variety,  and  the  gardens  are  connected  with  the  very  idea 
of  the  origin  of  Melnotte.  If  there  had  been  any  hesitation 
between  the  interior  or  exterior,  this  would  have  decided 
the  choice.  A  street  in  Lyons  was  required  by  way  of  con- 
venience, a  place  for  the  casual  meeting  with  the  officers. 
Finally  a  room  in  the  house  of  the  Deschappelles.  All  these 
scenes  of  locality  were  properly  arranged  with  reference  to 
the  entrances  and  exits.  This  is  a  part  of  the  stage  man- 
agement that  need  not  be  considered  very  closely  now.  No 
mention  is  made  of  the  lattice  in  the  description  or  stage 
directions  but  the  lattice  window  has  a  use  when  Beauseant 
makes  his  visit  to  the  cottage  to  taunt  Pauline  and  induce 
her  to  go  with  him.  He  is  first  seen  at  the  lattice  before  he 
enters.  The  stage  direction  says,  "A  staircase  to  the  right 
conducts  to  the  upper  story."  It  makes  no  material  differ- 
ence whether  it  be  at  the  right  or  left;  the  stage  manager 
of  any  production  of  the  play  might  change  it  according  to 
his  convenience.  He  cannot,  however,  change  the  scenes  of 
locality.  Proper  entrances  and  exits  must  be  provided,  of 
course,  but  the  details  of  the  scene  itself  belong  rather  to 
the  stagemanager  than  to  the  playwright.  At  the  same  time, 
the^  dramatist^s  conception  of  the  scene  must  be  practicable 
and  vivid  enough  to  be  secure  in  his  own  mind.     Various 


SCENERY  391    _ 

things,  such  as  the  easel  and  the  portrait,  are  fixed  by  the 
dramatist  himself;  they  are  essential  details.  All  the  Scen- 
ery is  in  keeping  and  none  is  unnecessary,  none  for  the  mere 
sake  of  Scenery. 

The  selection  of  the  scenes  of  locality  in  "Camille"  pro- 
bably gave  Dumas  little  occasion  for  hesitation.  The 
choice  was  obvious,  and  there  was  no  problem  to  consider 
in  order  to  fit  the  Action  to  them  or  them  to  the  Action. 
There  was  no  demand  for  exteriors,  the  play  being  almost 
entirely  one  of  emotion  within  doors;  the  consequence  is 
that  the  first  two  acts  pass  in  the  apartment  of  Camille,  the 
third  act  in  the  country  house,  the  fourth  act  in  the  house  of 
Olimpe,  and  the  fifth  Act  in  Camille's  poorly  furnished 
rooms.  It  only  remains  to  make  these  interiors  appropriate 
in  furnishing,  and  with  doors  to  suit  the  required  entrances 
and  exits.  The  first  scene  requires  a  mirror,  for  Camille  is 
to  look  in  it  and  note  her  paleness.  The  folding  doors,  cen- 
tre, lead  to  a  room  into  which  the  revelers  go,  and  from  whidh 
at  the  end  of  the  act  they  emerge  in  a  fantastic  dance.  The 
fire  place  with  its  fire  indicates,  in  a  manner,  the  time  of  year, 
March,  and  adds  to  the  appearance  of  comfort  with  which 
Camille  surrounds  herself.  The  piano  is  not  a  mere  acces- 
sory of  luxury ;  it  is  for  use  in  several  material  incidents,  as 
when  Varville  strums  upon  it  and  is  asked  by  Camille  to 
cease  his  noise,  and  is  also  used  as  an  accompaniment  to  the 
singing  and  dancing  and  the  revelry.  The  entrances  are  ar- 
ranged so  as  to  give  variety  and  meet  the  exigencies  of  the 
going  and  coming.  There  is  no  need  to  call  attention  to  the 
particular  arrangement,  for  the  entrances  and  exits  are 
purely  incidental  to  the  Action  and  any  stage  manager 
could  arrange  the  doors  to  suit  himself  with  proper  regard 
to  the  movements  of  the  characters.  It  is  not  at  all  impera- 
tive that  the  set  scene  should  be  exactly  as  Dumas  has  ar- 
ranged it,  but,  in  any  event,  the  properties  used  must  re- 
main the  same.  In  point  of  fact,  it  may  be  noted  that  in  the 
second  act,  Nanine's  exit  (L.  i  E.)  to  get  the  shawl  for  Ca- 
mille is  not  down  in  the  direction    of  the  first    act  at    all. 


392  ANAI^YSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE; 

However,  we  do  not  call  attention  to  that  as  a  particular 
defect ;  but  provision  must  be  made  in  the  set  scene  for  dis- 
tinguishing as  to  the  doors  of  the  main  entrance  and  as  to 
the  doors  that  lead  to  the  other  special  apartments.  Those 
points  are  really  matters  of  course.  The  dramatist  edits 
his  set  scene  according  to  the  exigencies  of  the  Action  and 
the  movement.  Of  course,  it  would  be  absurd  to  prepare  a 
diagram  of  a  scene  and  have  it  so  fixed  that  the  Action  and 
the  movement  must  conform  to  it.  The  room  in  the  coun- 
try house  is  provided  with  a  large  window  reaching  to  the 
floor,  so  that  Nanine  is  discovered  walking  in  the  garden. 
This  is  a  natural  device  in  order  to  give  the  scene  the  air 
of  the  country.  Different  exits  and  entrances  are  also  pro- 
vided so  as  to  enable  characters  to  come  and  go  off  with- 
out meeting  each  other.  The  arrangements  in  this  play  are 
not  meaningless.  The  supper  room  door  in  the  fourth  act 
is  so  arranged  that  the  entrance  of  the  characters  as  they 
rush  in  after  Armand  violently  dashes  it  open,  may  be  effec- 
tive. This  matter  of  arrangement  of  the  stage  largely  be- 
longs to  the  stage  manager.  The  dramatist  has  to  see  to  it 
that  his  diagram  of  the  scene  does  not  bring  conflict  into 
the  effective  movements  of  the  characters.  To  what  extent 
he  should  go  into  the  details  of  his  set  scene  lies  in  his  judg- 
ment as  to  essential  things.  The  tendency  is  to  make  the 
Scenery  helpful  to  the  Action.  A  window  for  Camille  to 
open  and  look  out  is  provided  in  the  last  act:  "Oh,  how 
bright  and  beautiful  everything  appears."  As  important  as 
this  scenic  arrangement  is,  the  more  important  function  of 
the  dramatist  is  to  provide  the  Action.  The  arrangements 
in  "Camille"  are  so  simple  that  a  discussion  of  set  scenes 
will  be  fore  profitable  in  some  play  that  is  more  complex  in 
this  particular. 

"Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  is  simple  enough  in  Scenery 
and  scenic  arrangement.  After  the  locality  and  char- 
acter of  the  Scenery  have  been  determined  it  becomes 
a  fixed  matter  of  detail  to  which  the  Action  may  conform. 
The  real  importance  or  difficulty  is    in    securely  selecting 


SCBNERY  393- 

wjhat  the  Scenery  is  to  be.  Taylor  did  not  select  his  Scen- 
ery first  and  then  accommodate  his  play  to  it.  In  his  notes 
of  his  play,  or  in  his  mental  reservation,  he  placed  the 
scene  of  the  first  act  in  the  drawing  room  of  Mildmay's 
villa.  That  villa  had  to  be  situated  at  a  certain  distance 
from  Manchester.  He  placed  it  at  Brompton.  As  the  play 
developed  in  his  mind,  he  saw  that  he  needed  a  conserva- 
tory across  the  stage  at  back,  communicating  with  the  gar- 
den by  folding  glass  doors.  He  had  a  use  for  everything. 
It  is  not  likely  that  he  built  the  house  with  wooden  folding 
doors  first  and  then  tore  it  down  again  and  put  in  glass 
doors,  although  it  is  not  impossible,  from  the  plastic  nature 
of  playwriting,  that  he  may  have  done  so.  At  any  rate,  he 
arranged  the  Scenery  according  to  the  demands  as  they 
came  up.  He  had  the  French  windows  with  curtains,  open- 
ing to  gardens,  for  certain  exits  and  entrances.  He  need- 
ed those  exits  and  entrances  according  to  the  development 
of  the  play  in  his  Scenario.  He  did  not  particularly  con- 
cern himself  with  L.  3  E.  or  R.  i  E.,  until  he  found  occasion 
to  make  these  exits  and  entrances  distinct.  The  play 
could  be  done  just  as  well  with  one  arrangement  of  the 
scene  Plot  as  another,  just  so  the  arrangement  provided  for 
the  exigencies.  There  is  a  reason  why  for  «very  stage  di- 
rection as  to  this  Scenery.  The  question  of  Scenery,  as 
Scenery,  for  effect  hardly  enters  into  the  scheme  of  the 
play.  The  stage  management,  however,  is  involved.  There 
is  no  particular  point  in  the  process  of  thought  at  which 
locality  and  Scenery  are  fixed  upon,  but  they  naturally  sug- 
gest themselves  almost  immediately.  Could  Taylor  have 
hesitated  between  an  exterior  or  an  interior  for  his  first 
scene,  which  is  wholly  and  intimately  domestic  in  its  na- 
ture ? 

There  is  nothing  in  "A  New  Way  To  Pay  Old  Debts*'  for 
the  mere  sake  of  Scenery.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  written 
before  the  days  of  elaboration  in  that  particular.  More  was 
left  to  the  imagination  than  would  now  be  done,  and,  in 
consequence,  the  text  often  gained  verbally.    And  yet  with 


394  ANAI^YSIS  O?  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLie 

the  modern  use  of  Scenery  in  this  play  not  a  line  need  be 
omitted.  On  "the  skirts  of  Lady  Allworth's  Park,"  Lovell, 
speaking  off  as  he  enters,  says,  "Drive  the  coach  around  the 
hill:  Something  in  private  I  must  impart  to  Allworth." 
This  is  the  first  set  scene  in  act  third;  we  had  seen  it  as 
the  first  set  scene  in  act  second.  Indirectly  from  the  text 
we  know  that  the  characters  engaged  in  the  dialogue  are 
on  their  way  to  the  house  of  Lady  Allworth ;  in  the  second 
use  of  it,  the  way  leads  from  Lady  Allworth's  to  Sir  Giles's. 
The  third  exterior,  the  third  scene  in  act  second,  is,  "The 
open  country."  It  requires  no  definite  locality,  the  Scenery 
having  no  bearing  on  the  movements  of  the  people.  It  is 
plain  that  Massinger  wrote  with  the  natural  pictures  in  his 
mind.  What  a  relief  from  those  plays  in  which  it  is  so  ob- 
vious that  the  dramatist  had  the  stage  ONLY  in  his  mind ! 
Certainly  he  was  always  conscious  of  the  limitations  of  the 
stage,  and  his  vivid  imagination  furnished  entrances  and 
exits,  right,  left,  etc.,  but  the  stage  directions  to  be  seen  in 
the  acting  edition  are,  to  a  great  extent,  modern.  The  ale- 
house is  also  an  exterior.  Massinger  may  have  first  thought 
of  an  interior,  but  this  is  better.  Attention  is  at  once,  when 
the  curtain  rises,  centered  on  the  wretched  man,  with  a 
large  rough  stick,  in  tattered  apparel,  who  knocks  at  the 
door.  Besides,  the  talk  between  Wellborn  and  Allworth 
could  be  better  held  in  the  open.  If  all  this  had  taken  place 
within  the  house,  the  first  incident  would  not  have  been  so 
conclusively  disposed  of.  There  Wellborn  is,  at  the  end  of 
the  scene,  homeless,  no  prospect  of  a  renewal  of  the  quarrel, 
spurned,  resolved  to  leave  his  old  haunts  and  seek  to  re- 
habilitate himself.  Little  things  may  determine  the  pro- 
priety. There  was  hardly  any  hesitation  about  determining 
upon  an  alehouse  for  the  opening  scene,  but  whether  an  ex- 
terior, may  have  given  some  thought.  The  Scenery,  belong- 
ing as  it  does,  to  the  external  and  accidental  things  of  a 
play,  is  soon  fixed  upon.  It  is  chosen  for  certain  conveni- 
ences and  proprieties  and  remains  fixed,  being  then  elimi- 
nated from  the  plastic  necessities  of  the  work.    Something 


SCENJ^RV  395 

may  arise  in  the  process  of  construction  requiring  a  change, 
but  usually  the  selection  of  the  localities  of  the  scenery  is 
made  without  difficulty.  A  hall  in  Lady  Allworth's  house ; 
a  hall  in  Sir  Giles's  house;  a  room  in  Lady  Allworth's,  a 
room  in  Sir  Giles's,  are  interiors.  The  directions  are  simple, 
such  as,  "Table  and  two  chairs,  Pens,  Ink,  Paper,  Wax,  and 
lighted  Taper."  We  must  include  the  decoration  and  pro- 
perties in  the  Scenery.  No  one  can  read  this  play  without 
feeling  the  substantial  state  in  which  Lady  Allworth  lives 
or  the  display  of  opulence  of  which  Sir  Giles  is  capable.  A 
"table  and  two  chairs"  is  enough  for  Massinger.  It  is  plain 
why  he  selected  the  hall  for  the  first  scene  in  which  Well- 
born appears  at  the  house.  Lady  Allworth  receives  no  one, 
but  her  house  is  open  to  every  one.  She  provides  food  for 
the  needy,  as  ever,  and  her  table  is  free  to  those  who  come. 
Sir  Giles  can  reach  the  hall.  It  is  there  he  meets  Wellborn 
and  reviles  him.  The  interiors  and  feastings  were  inciden- 
tally necessary  for  Justice  Greedy.  The  actual  disposition 
of  the  rooms  and  doors  belong  to  the  surface  of  things  and 
not  to  the  substance.  It  may  be  that  if  Massinger  had  giv- 
en elaborate  descriptions  of  architecture  and  decoration  and 
the  internal  arrangement  of  the  rooms  and  the  houses,  he 
might  have  contributed  something  that  historical  records 
have  omitted,  but  if  he  had  relied  too  much  upon  the  pic- 
torial and  the  objective,  his  lines  would  not  now  be  so  rich 
and  descriptive,  in  the  proper  sense.  It  is  not  by  descrip- 
tion alone  that  he  produces  scenic  effects  in  our  minds,  but 
also  by  the  vital  necessity  of  everything  that  is  said.  What- 
ever is  described  in  the  Dialogue  belongs  to  the  Action. 


¥ 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


DETAIL;  CIRCUMSTANTIALITY. 

The  process  of  coming  from  the  general  to  the  particular 
must  now  be  well  established  in  the  student's  mind.  He 
must  understand  the  value,  the  inevitable  necessity,  of  hav- 
ing an  idea  of  ample  magnitude  to  start  with,  that  a  play  is 
constructed  first,  and  that  the  greater  part  of  the  thinking 
precedes  the  execution;  the  writing  of  a  play  being  the 
execution  of  it.  When  you  begin  to  develop  the  idea  from 
which  you  start,  each  succeeding  step  is  a  detail;  at  first 
large,  then  small.  The  successive  steps  in  the  Plot,  for  ex- 
ample, are  the  Details  of  that  Plot.  We  may  call  them  the 
larger  Details  of  the  play.  You  see  a  building  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  as  you  approach  it  closer  you  perceive  more  and 
more  of  the  Details.  So  it  is  with  a  play  as  you  proceed 
in  the  work.  Now,  the  amateur  begins  the  writing  or  exe- 
cution of  a  play  by  means  of  Details  at  once.  It  is  really 
an  almost  impossible  method.  The  large  and  small  Details 
are  jumbled  together.  In  the  absence  of  structure,  the 
Details  cannot  be  assigned  to  any  proper  divisions. 
Details  used  in  this  way  would  soon  exhaust 
all  sources  of  inspiration.  The  Details  would  be- 
come more  lifeless  and  more  useless  the  more  of  them  you 
accumulated.  It  is  only  by  pursuing  the  proper  workman- 
like method  that  true  and  abundant  Detail  can  be  procured. 
Your  mind  is  constantly  kept  in  a  state  of  exhilaration  by 
the  new  things  that  come  to  you  with  each  step.  Indeed 
this  discovery  of  Detail  as  you  need  it  is  one  of  the  com- 
pensations of  the  dramatist  who  works  with  a  proper 
method.  An  appreciation  of  Detail  is  proof  of  interest  in 
Life  and  of  a  knowledge  of  the  subject  you  are  handling.  You 
will  observe  attention  given  to  Detail  in  any  good  anecdote, 
particularly  if  one  is  relating  a  personal  experience ;  and  it 
is  through  the  proper  arrangement  of  this  Detail  that  the 


dei'ail;  circumstantiality  397  ~ 

narrator  keeps  his  hearers  constantly  interested.  The  sense  j  . 
of  Detail  is,  moreover,  a  striking  characteristic  of  the  dra-' 
matic  mind.  The  undramatic  mind,  or  the  merely  philo- 
sophic mind,  is  content  with  the  mere  statement  of  the  pro- 
position, the  philosophy  of  things.  Such  a  mind  is  willing  to 
admit  without  going  back  to  the  small  actualities  of  Life, 
that  love  can  subdue  the  heart  of  the  barbarian ;  and  it  does 
not  care  to  know  the  Details  of  how  Parthenia  managed  it. 
It  is  when  you  get  to  the  Scenes  that  you  confront  Detail. 
In  the  production  and  the  acting,  the  stage  manager  and  the 
actor  add  infinite  Detail  to  what  you  have  written,  the 
inflection  of  the  voice  and  every  movement  becoming  im- 
portant. But  all  that  Detail  can  amount  to  nothing  unless 
that  Detail  has  been  reached  after  the  manner  that  we 
have  indicated.    Every  Detail  should  count. 

In  this  analytical  part  all  that  can  be  done  is  to  have  you 
note  the  Detail  in  the  plays  and  the  manner  in  which  it  has 
been  introduced.  In  these  plays  you  see  how  things  are  done 
rightly;  it  is  only  in  bad  plays  or  in  your  own  work,  as  a 
beginner,  that  you  can  experience  or  see  how  Detail  is 
wrongly  practiced.  Absolutely  ruinous  is  all  Detail  that  is 
mere  "Story,"  oil  stage,  which  should  be  seen  in  order  to 
be  retained  in  the  mind.  But  if  you  master  the  method  of 
having  all  your  Action  take  place  on  the  stage  you  will  never 
think  of  having  Detail  off-stage;  you  will  not  have  too 
many  words  by  way  of  Detail  if  you  have  made  your  Plot 
and  mapped  out  the  play  so  as  to  save  words. 

The  smallest  Detail  may  be  of  the  utmost  importance.  De- 
tail becomes  important  in  its  place.  When  the  barbarians  are 
throwing  dice  Novio  stakes  a  black  colt  fleet  as  the  winds, 
and  Ambivar  two  fat  rams.  Do  you  not  see  that  this  is  Detail 
in  the  right  place  ?  What  use  could  you  have  for  that  Detail 
outside  of  this  particular  Scene?  It  need  not  have  entered 
into  your  mind  until  you  reached  the  execution  of  the 
Scene,  but  with  the  general  necessities  of  the  Scene  pre- 
determined you  would  resume  your  process  of  thought  and 
the  proper  Detail  would  come  to  you  as  called  for  by  the 


398  ANAI^YSIS  O^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLlS 

Action.    These  Details  were  not  required  for  the  Plot.  Note 
Details  which  belong  only  to  the  Scenes. 

Detail  comes  from  a  perfect  or  sufficient  knowledge,  of 
the  subject  or  material.  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance, 
then,  in  the  creative  part  of  the  work,  and  must  be  had  be- 
fore there  can  be  any  use  for  the  application  of  the  Tech- 
nique. To  discover  by  means  of  analysis  the  Details  in 
these  plays  is  more  to  confirm  the  truth  of  this  than  any- 
thing else.  In  descending  from  the  general  to  the  particu- 
lar, from  the  Proposition  to  the  Plot,  and  further  to  the 
technical  divisions,  we  get  further  and  further  into  Detail 
until  the  full  effect  depends  absolutely  upon  Detail.  The 
Landlord  gives  some  account  of  Melnotte,  "a  wonderful 
young  man."  Beauseant:  "How  wonderful?  Are  his  cab- 
bages better  than  other  people's?"  Landlord:  "Nay,  he 
don't  garden  any  more;  his  father  left  him  well  off.  He's 
only  a  genus."  Glavis — :  "A  what?"  Landlord:  "A  ge- 
nus; a  man  who  can  do  anything  in  life  except  an3rthing 
that's  useful; — that's  a  genus."  Bulwer  may  have  had  the 
expression  of  "genus"  in  his  notes  ready  for  this  scene  or  it 
may  have  occurred  to  him  in  writing  the  scene,  but  it  is  a 
detail.  It  is  a  much  smaller  detail  than  these  other  Details 
which  are,  in  a  certain  measure,  essential  to  the  Plot.  Pau- 
line's mother  says:  "Any  girl,  however  inexperienced, 
knows  how  to  accept  an  offer,  but  it  requires  a  vast  deal  of 
address  to  refuse  one  with  proper  condescension  and  dis- 
dain. I  used  to  practice  it  at  school  with  the  dancing-mas- 
ter." In  the  mechanism,  the  play  could  do  without  this  de- 
tail although  there  was  a  technical  occasion  for  the  use  of 
it.  It  was  not  merely  to  give  Character.  Time  had  to  be 
given  for  the  entrance  of  Damas  after  the  exit  of  Beau- 
seant. And  yet  how  valuable  this  detail  is !  Whatever  in  a 
play  secures  a  laugh  is  worth  money.  Nor  is  this  a  com- 
mercial way  of  looking  at  the  matter.  See  also  how  useful 
Detail  is  in  the  monologue  of  Damas  at  the  close  of  the  first 
set  scene.  We  know  well  what  his  opinion  of  women  is, 
but  here  is  new  detail  that  serves  technical  purpose.     If 


DETAII.;    CIRCUMSTANTIALITY  399 

you  know  your  subject  thoroughly,  this  Detail  will  come  to 
you  at  command.  You  cannot  rely  upon  its  coming  to  you 
by  accident. 

A  play  like  "Camille"  that  has  had  universal  acceptance 
must  have  general  ideas  that  are  understood  by  all  people, 
but  it  would  not  be  a  Parisian  play  if  it  were  not  for  its  De- 
tails. It  is  absolute  proof  of  the  soundness  and  necessity  of 
knowing  of  what  you  write  or  informing  yourself  of  your 
material  in  all  its  aspects  and  minute  accidents.  If  Nichette 
is  a  grisette  or  a  working  girl,  she  must  be  seen  with  her 
cap  and  all  the  characteristics  of  her  class.  To  have  her 
dressed  like  a  school  girl  and  played  like  one  is  to  destroy 
all  proportions  and  truth.  Life  cannot  be  disentangled  of  De- 
tails. Some  one  rings  the  bell;  Louis  will  attend  the  door; 
it  is  not  Camille,  she  said  she  would  return  at  half  past  ten, 
and  it  is  not  yet  ten.  Here  we  have  a  technical  Detail  for 
the  purpose  of  permitting  Nanine,  in  a  later  scene,  to  re- 
count the  history  of  Camille  without  having  the  attention 
of  the  audience  distracted  with  the  expectation  of  seeing 
Camille  at  any  moment.  The  short  exchange  of  talk  with 
Nichette  is  all  Detail.  It  could  be  nothing  else,  for  there  is 
not  a  particle  of  subjective  purpose  in  its  bearing  on  the 
Plot.  The  Details  constitute  the  chief  interest.  The  bun- 
dle does  not  make  the  slightest  difference  in  the  Plot  Action 
of  the  play,  but  the  incident  of  the  call  would  have  been  too 
bare,  too  general  without  it.  Besides,  it  gives  a  specific 
cause  for  the  coming  of  Nichette.  Again,  it  shows  Objec- 
tively her  relations  with  Camille.  It  occasions  the  remark 
that  "nothing  is  a  trouble  that  I  do  for  Camille."  She  can- 
not remain.  Why?  Gustave  is  waiting.  There  is  some 
new  detail  in  every  sentence,  and  these  details  are  animate 
as  well  as  inanimate.  That  Camille  calls  her  Nichette,  a  pet 
name,  that  they  worked  together,  with  other  details,  are 
brought  out.  Varville  says,  "Oh,  then  he  is  Monsieur  Ni- 
chette !"  surely  that  is  a  detail  of  passing  humor.  If  a  char- 
acter did  not  have  liberty  for  such  little  trifles,  the  Action  of 
the  Dialogue  would  have  the  rigidity  of  cast  iron.    This  is 


400  ANALYSIS  O^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

an  excellent  example  of  Detail,  trifling  as  it  is.  It  is  born 
of  the  spirit  of  the  moment  and  of  circumstances,  the  gen- 
eral outline  of  which  has  been  provided  in  the  Structure. 
The  trifling  Detail  need  not  have  been  set  down  in  the 
notes  preparatory  to  the  writing.  The  dramatist  has  as 
much  as  he  can  do  to  attend  to  the  additional  Details  when 
he  takes  up  the  writing.  This  trifling  Detail  does  not  re- 
appear. Nanine's  reference  to  the  camelias  that  Camille 
wears  is  a  larger  detail.  Use  is  to  be  made  of  it  later.  The 
Details  of  Camille's  history  have  to  be  got  out  of  the  way 
in  the  opening  of  the  play.  There  are  many  little  Details 
that  can  be  summed  up  in  a  single  scene ;  this  is  always  the 
proper  procedure.  So  cohesive  and  correlated  are  all  these 
details  in  the  recital  by  Nanine  that  they  are  remembered. 
They  count  at  the  moment.  Business  is  all  and  always  De- 
tail, attention  having  been  called  to  this  in  the  discussion 
of  that  subject.  Varville  sits  at  the  fire  place ;  Camille  gives 
herself  something  to  do  at  the  piano  in  order  to  express  her 
indifference.  Brightness  in  Dialogue,  repartee,  in  particu- 
lar, comes  from  the  detail  induced  by  the  Action  of  the  mo- 
ment. "Mademoiselle  Olimpe,  you  wicked  woman,"  says 
Gaston.  "No  wonder,  I  keep  bad  company,"  is  her  reply. 
Indirectly  and  by  detail  alone  is  character  conveyed  for  the 
most  part.  The  strongest  situation  in  the  play,  the  scene 
between  Camille  and  Duval,  is  made  up  of  infinite  Detail  of 
sentiment  and  Facts.  The  structure  has  provided  for  the 
sum  total  of  the  scene.  The  product,  in  its  crude  state,  is 
ready,  the  dramatist  reduces  it  to  its  elements  and  Details. 
He  goes  from  the  general  to  the  particular.  The  supper 
scene,  apart  from  its  purpose  to  show  the  beginning  of  the 
love  of  the  two,  could  not  exist  without  its  Detail.  Dumas 
had  to  show  gayety  and  frivolity.  The  purposes  of  the 
scene  settled,  he  could  lay  it  aside  and  proceed  with  his  con- 
struction of  the  play,  and  then  return,  when  ready,  to  sup- 
ply the  details.  Do  you  suppose  Dumas  at  first  was  think- 
ing of  the  yellow  cab  when  his  mind  and  heart  were  en- 
gaged in  the  problem  of  entangling  two  hearts  and  lives? 


detail;    CIRCUMSTANtlAWTY  4OI 

What  has  the  yellow  cab  or  Prudence's  age  or  appetite  to 
do  with  structure?  And  why  should  an  author  encumber 
his  mind  with  such  details  when  he  is  establishing  the 
mechanism  of  the  play? 

In  his  Plot  of  "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"  Taylor  has  avoid- 
ed the  complications  of  Detail  that  would  have  resulted 
from  the  introduction  of  much  that  he  leaves  to  Story  and 
happenings  "offstage."  He  goes  the  limit  in  this  respect. 
Too  much  detail  of  Plot  is  to  be  avoided  else  you  will  be 
overwhelmed  with  Mere  Plot.  Too  much  Detail  of  Plot 
could  easily  have  perverted  this  play  into  a  melodrama. 
Taylor's  object,  on  the  contrary,  was  to  depict  Character. 
We  had  to  give  in  Detail  the  characteristics  of  the  two  op- 
posing men,  Mildmay  and  Hawksley,  consequently,  we  find 
the  very  minute  mathematical  calculations  of  Hawksley  in 
the  second  act.  The  Details  of  Hawksley's  argument  or 
demonstrations  were  necessary,  more  to  show  the  methods 
of  the  promoter  and  to  explain  his  success  with  investors  in 
a  general  way  than  for  the  immediate  Plot  necessities  of  the 
scene.  Hawksley's  demonstration,  reduced  by  the  common 
sense,  Mildmay  to  an  absurdity,  was  not  required  to  con- 
vince Mildmay  of  the  fraudulent  nature  of  the  scheme,  or 
even  to  make  the  slightest  impression  on  him  in  favor  of 
Hawksley.  It  was  not  a  Plot  necessity,  it  was  pure  Detail 
for  the  purpose  of  Character.  We  have  pointed  out  the  un- 
common amount  of  Business  in  the  play,  either  implied  or 
expressed.  Business  is  almost  always  Detail  and  it  is  es- 
sential for  Character  and  Action.  The  first  scene  abounds 
in  Detail,  and  there  is  no  unnecessary  Detail  in  it  or  in  any 
part  of  the  play.^"  Unnecessary  Detail  is  as  ruinous  to  the 
Action  of  the  play  aTliecessary  Detail  is  helpful.  The  ten- 
dency of  all  perfect  knowledge  of  one's  material  is  toward 
Detail.  If  Mildmay  had  invited  his  wife  to  a  tete-a-tete 
with  him  at  some  hotel  or  public  house,  name  not  given,  the 
effect  would  not  be  the  same  as  it  is  when  he  speaks  of  the 
Star  and  Garter.  We  can  feel  a  local  color  here  which 
stands  out  much  more  clearly  with  those  who  know  defin- 
26 


402  ANAI.YSIS  0]P  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

itely  the  locality  of  the  play.  It  would  have  been  unneces- 
sary Detail  for  him  to  have  gone  into  the  particulars  about 
the  Star  and  Garter.  The  absurdity  of  this  unnecessary 
Detail  we  have  shown  in  the  examples  of  unnecessary 
Words  in  the  exercise  on  that  subject.  To  have  Mildmay 
ask  Emily  to  indulge  him  with  "Auld  Robin  Gray"  is  surely- 
more  significant  than  if  he  merely  requested  some  simple 
music.  Observe  also  that  these  Details  are  not  always 
mere  Details,  for,  if  you  remember  the  song,  the  wife  re- 
grets her  marriage.    That  both  Potter  and  Mildmay  go  to 

sleep  after  dinner  is  a  Detail,  not  necessarily  for  Character, 
although  it  fits  into  the  scene  perfectly,  but  in  the  case  of 
Potter,  in  order  to  keep  him  on  the  stage  and  save  an  exit 
and  re-entrance,  and,  in  the  case  of  Mildmay,  to  have  him 
overhear  Mrs.  Sternhold's  opinion  of  him.  The  wasp  is  a 
Detail  used  for  a  specific  purpose.  That  Mildmay  is  going 
to  Manchester  that  night  by  the  mail  train  is,  at  this  point, 
purely  a  Detail.  The  play  abounds  in  little  Details,  to  all 
of  which  you  should  give  your  attention.  They  are  all  lit- 
tle touches  which  give  completeness  to  the  conditions  of 
the  Action  and  the  relations  of  the  characters.  It  is  not  very 
important  that  the  difference  between  the  ages  of  Potter  and 
Jane  is  eighteen  years,  but  that  difference  does  afford  a 
great  deal  of  character  and  makes  much  more  definite  the 
superiority  of  Jane  over  her  complacent  brother.  It  is  an 
important  detail  that  Emily  is  Potter's  only  child.  Taylor 
might  have  left  that  fact  unexpressed,  but  with  an  instinct 
and  knowledge  of  a  true  author,  he  conveyed  the  point  by 
expressing  the  Detail.  The  significance  of  a  little  fact  of 
that  kind  is  immensely  helpful  to  a  play  in  suggesting  ideas 
to  an  audience  and  not  expressing  them.  Surely  the  audi- 
ence will  find  some  explanation  in  the  spoiled  vanity  and 
weakness  of  Emily  in  the  fact  that  she  is  an  only  child. 
The  Details  of  the  Business  in  the  play  we  have  already 
touched  upon.  In  point  of  fact,  any  amount  of  proper  De- 
tail may  be  and  should  be  introduced  into  a  play  if  it  can  be 


DETAII.;    CIRCUMSTANTIALITY  4^3 

shown  incidentally  and  if  it  belongs  to  the  actual  facts.  It 
requires  skill  to  introduce  these  little  things  where  they  will 
not  disturb,  but  where  they  will  be  helpful.  Mrs.  Mildmay 
and  Mrs.  Sternhold  might  have  introduced  the  Detail  in  the 
very  first  scene  that  Mildmay  was  a  north-country  boy  from 
Lancashire;  but  that  Detail  has  its  only  significance  when 
Dunbilk  warns  Hawksley  to  be  cautious  with  Mildmay  for 
*'Thim  North-counthry  boys  is  as  cute  as  Dublin  car  dhri- 
vers."  For  the  present,  let  us  content  ourselves  in  this  ex- 
ercise with  noting  that  the  Detail  comes  from  the  perfect 
knowledge  of  one's  Material,  and  that  its  use  is  governed  by 
Indirection,  Sequence,  the  Action  and  other  elements  in  a 
play,  and  that  Necessary  detail  is  helpful  and  indispensable, 
while  unnecessary  Detail  is  harmful^] 

Taine  somewhere  says  that  when  a  tiger  presented  itself 
to  Shakespeare's  mind,  he  saw  that  tiger  with  all  its  marks 
and  peculiarities,  to  the  hair.  We  may  attribute  this  to 
imagination ;  I  prefer  to  call  it  knowledge.  There  have  been 
been  painters  celebrated  for  their  landscapes,  who,  if  they 
wished  to  introduce  a  figure  of  a  man  or  animal  had  it  done 
by  a  special  artist.  This  was  because  they  did  not  know 
animate  nature  as  they  did  inanimate.  They  did  not  com- 
mand the  details.  Our  best  profit  in  the  examination  of 
Massinger's  play  with  reference  to  details  is  to  become  con- 
vinced that  a  previous  study  of  one's  subject,  that  upon 
which  he  vn-ites,  is  essential  to  the  dramatist.  This  play  is 
incomparably  richer  in  details  than  any  we  have  so  far  ex- 
amined.i  It  will  not  be  necessary  to  enumerate  them  all  be- 
/"fore  we  recognize  this  fact  and  wonder  at  the  completeness 
(^  of  Massinger's  vision.  He  not  only  gives  all  the  details  di- 
^  rectly  adhering  to  his  personages,  but  illustrative  sentences, 
with  a  wide  sweep,  give  us  pictures,  far  and  near,  of  the  pe- 
riod.   Tapwell  refuses  Wellborn  drink, 


I 


"Nor  the  remainder  of  a  single  can. 
Left  by  a  drunken  porter," 

While  Froth  adds,  "Not  the  dropping  of  the  tap."    Tapwell 


404  ANAIvYSiS  01^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE: 

does  not  find  the  claims  on  Wellborn  for  money  given  ''in 
chalk."  The  precise  sum  of  forty  pounds  fixes  exactly  the 
humhle  beginnings  of  Tapwell  as  a  landlord,  and  Tapwell 
distinguishes  between  tavern  and  taphouse.  If  Tapwell  had 
simply  said  that  he  would  give  him  no  drink  because  he  had 
no  money  any  longer,  it  would  have  lost  the  appearance  of 
detail,  whereas  what  he  does  say  is  rich  in  it : 

"For,  from  the  tavern  to  the  taphouse,  all 
On  forfeiture  of  their  licenses,  stand  bound 
Ne'er  to  remember  who  their  best  guests  were. 
If  they  grow  poor,  like  you." 
We  need  not  dwell  upon  the  details  of  Massinger's  im- 
agery, for  imagery  universally  involves  detail,  and  we  are 
now  considering  the  Details  of  the  subject  proper.     The 
scene    of    the    servants    in    Lady    Allworth's    hall    gives 
us  an  actual  scene  from  the  life  of  three  hundred  years  ago 
with  such  minuteness  that  its  verity  is  manifest.    The  stage 
direction  as  to  the  furnishings  is  oddly  meagre,  "Table  and 
four  chairs."    Not  much  Detail  there.     Stage  management 
itself  had  not  reached  Detail.    Order  has  his  staff  of  office. 
His  "chain  and  double  ruffs"  are  symbols  of  power. 
I       "Whoever  misses  in  his  function, 

i  For  one  whole  week  makes  forfeiture  of  his  breakfast, 

\         And  privilege  in  the  wine-cellar." 

"Tis  not  twelve  o'clock  yet,  nor  dinner  taken  up."  Fur- 
nace complains  that  when  he  cracks  his  brains  to  find  out 
tempting  sauces,  "when  I  am  three  parts  roasted,  and  the 
fourth  part  parboiled,  to  prepare  her  viands,  she  keeps  her 
chamber,  dines  with  a  panada,  or  water-gruel."  The  charm 
of  all  this  is  its  definiteness,  its  Detail.  The  general  idea 
was  all  provided  for  in  the  Plot  or  Scenario.  For  that  mat- 
ter, that  Lady  Allworth  refrained  from  her  customary  food 
is  not  exactly  a  part  of  the  Plot,  and  if  it  is  of  minor  im- 
portance, how  are  we  to  attach  value  to  the  Detail,  for  ex- 
ample, that  she  "dines  with  panada,  or  water-gruel?"  For 
one  thing,  because  the  complaining  of  the  cook  is  the  one 


detail;  circumstantiality  405 

really  important  thing  in  placing  the  character  before  us 
for  the  purpose  of  Episode.  Much  of  this  Detail  existed  in 
Massinger's  notes,  mental  or  written,  before  he  found  a 
place  for  it.  He  found  his  Episode  first,  and  then  used  the 
Detail  in  this  scene.  "Sort  those  silks  well.  Fll  take  the  air 
alone."  Note  the  Detail  of  ideas  in  Lady  Allworth's  advice 
to  her  step-son.    Order  says, 

"There  came,  not  six  days  since,  from  Hull,  a  pipe 
Of  rich  Canary,"  &c. 
Greedy's  remarks  are  full  of  Detail.  Here  we  see  one 
very  valuable  aspect  of  Detail.  Without  it,  how  could  his 
humor  be  picked  out.  His  minute  descriptions  of  baked 
meats  and  pastries  and  cooked  food  show  him  to  be  an  ex- 
pert connoisseur.  The  stag  must  be  baked  in  puff-paste. 
The  stag  came  from  the  forest  of  Sherwood,  and  it  is  one 
of  the  fattest  that  Furnace  has  ever  cooked.  The  chine  of 
beef  is  "ponderous,"  which  gives  us  a  clue  to  the  old  expres- 
sion that  represents  the  table  as  "groaning"  with  its  burden. 
The  pheasant  is  larded.  Greedy  is  bound  to  have,  if  noth- 
ing else,  "but  a  corner  of  that  immortal  pastry."  Wellborn 
is  rudely  received  by  the  servants  and  reprimanded  be- 
cause he  had  not  stayed  "to  be  served,  among  your  fellows, 
from  the  basket,  but  you  must  press  into  the  hall."  Is  not 
that  a  little  Detail  of  this  Lady  Bountiful's  house?  Well- 
born describes  the  servants  in  a  few  words  of  choice  Detail, 
"created  only  to  make  legs  and  cringe,  to  carry  in  a  dish, 
and  shift  a  trencher."  The  opening  scene  of  the  second  act 
has  much  of  its  interest,  a  kind  of  Action  in  itself,  from  De- 
tail. Sir  Giles  "will  buy  some  cottage  near  his  manor," 
Master  Frugal's  "which  done,  I'll  make  my  men  break  ope 
his  fences,  ride  o'er  his  standing  corn,  and  in  the  night  set 
fire  to  his  barns,  or  break  his  cattle's  legs ;  these  trespasses 
draw  on  suits,  and  suits  expenses,"  &c.  Passage  after  pas- 
sage, page  after  page,  would  have  to  be  quoted  in  order  to 
put  down  here  what  is  plain  to  any  one  who  will  read  the 
lines  of  the  play.  Does  Marrall  make  his  reflections  on  the 
sudden  change  in  the  fortunes    of  Wellborn     in     general 


406  ANALYSIS  0]P  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPUe 

phrases?  No,  he  reflects  that  but  lately  he  was  glad  to  get 
"but  cheese  parings  and  brown  bread  on  Sundays!"  Mas- 
singer  thus  reduces  everything,  the  slightest,  to  the  con- 
crete; his  illustrations  are  Details.  Wellborn  assures  Mar- 
rail  that  they  will  not  dine  under  a  hedge.  Marrall  is  as- 
tonished, for 

"But  yesterday,  you  thought  t 

Yourself  well  in  a  barn,  wrapped  up  in  pease-straw/j 

Note  Amble's  description  of  Marrall's  conduct  at  the  ta- 
ble: 

"As  I  live,  he  rises,  and  takes  up  a  dish 
In  which  there  were  some  remnants  of  a  boiled  capon. 
And  pledged  her  in  white  broth !" 

Sir  Giles  has  his  servant  take  his  horse  that  he  himself 
may  walk  "to  get  me  an  appetite ;  it  is  but  a  mile  distant  to 
the  house :"  exercise  will  keep  him  from  getting  pursy.  Be- 
fore this,  Marrall,  wishing  to  ingratiate  himself  with  Well- 
born, has  offered  him  a  horse,  a  horse,  is  that  all  ?  No,  that 
is  not  enough  for  Massinger.  Marrall's  horse  is  a  gelding. 
Marrall  would  like  to  have,  as  a  favor  from  Wellborn,  when 
the  time  comes,  "the  lease  of  glebe  land,  called  Knave's 
Acre."  As  Lovell  enters,  he  calls  off  that  his  coach  should 
be  driven  "around  the  hill."  It  is  half  an  hour's  riding  to 
the  house  of  Sir  Giles.  Again  we  come  to  Greedy,  and  his 
sentences  are  compact  with  Detail.  He  would  be  impossi- 
ble without  it.  Sir  Giles  has  much  Detail  in  his  talk  with 
Margaret.  She  is  wearing  orient  pearls  and  a  gown  of 
quaint  fashion.  Sir  Giles  has  taken  up  the  serving  gentle- 
woman "in  an  old  tamin  gown."  Confound  Greedy!  here 
he  is  again  with  his  Details.  He  can't  make  the  cook  cook 
the  fawn  whole  with  a  Norfolk  dumpling  in  its  belly.  Greedy 
has  to  sit  with  the  maids  below.  Sir  Giles  speaks  of  the 
trunk  of  rich  clothes,  "not  far  hence,  in  pawn,"  belonging 
to  Wellborn.  He  will  redeem  them.  It  is  four  miles  dis- 
tance between  Sir  Giles's  manor  house  and  Lady  All- 
worth's.  The  scene  of  Episode  in  which  Wellborn  meets 
with  and  disposes  of  his  creditors  is  particularly  full  of  De- 


DUTAlh;   CIRCUMSTANTIALITY  4^7 

tail.  There  is  no  need  to  reproduce  it  all.  The  Vintner 
reminds  Wellborn  of  the  "muscadine  and  eggs"  he  trusted 
him  for,  "five  pound  suppers,  with  your  after-drinkings, 
when  you  lodged  upon  the  bank-side."  In  the  fifth  act, 
note  that  Wellborn  is  dressed  in  "lavender  robes."  The 
land  had  been  in  Wellborn's  name  "twenty  descents."  "Vil- 
lage nurses  revenge  their  wrongs  with  curses,"  but  Sir  Giles 
will  "not  waste  a  syllable,"  as  he  advances  to  kill  Marrall. 
In  his  madness  Sir  Giles  sees  Furies  "with  steel  whips." 
Detail  is  one  of  the  charms  of  the  play.  The  deed  is  "three 
years  old." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


THE   CONDESCENDING  FALLACY  THAT  ONLY  THE 
RUDIMENTS  CAN  BE  TAUGHT. 

The  "born"  playwright  will  graciously  condescend  to  ad- 
mit that  some  instruction  in  playwriting  might  be  useful 
for  beginners.  He  himself  was  never  a  "beginner."  The 
idea  implied  in  this  is  that  some  poor  creature,  in 
need  of  making  a  living,  might  possibly  by  a  close 
study  of  his  plays  evolve  some  understanding  of  the  ele- 
mentary principles  and  impart  them  to  people  less  fortunate 
than  they  and  who  need  to  have  the  faltering  steps  of  their 
childhood  supported  and  guided  by  some  mechanical  knave 
who  has  himself  never  got  beyond  the  rudiments.  It  im- 
plies further  that  only  the  rudiments  of  the  art  can  be 
taught;  that  when  it  gets  beyond  the  rudiments  only  a  su- 
perior mind  working  in  its  own  inscrutable  way  applies 
principles  and  methods  that  cannot  be  reduced  to  terms. 
This  assumption  or  theory  has  never  been  applied  to  any 
other  art.  It  is  certain  that  no  one  is  satisfied  with  the 
"rudiments,"  either  as  a  matter  of  teaching  or  learning,  in 
any  other  School  than  the  one  which  I  have  had  the  pre- 
sumption to  found.  Something  more  than  the  a,  b,  c's  are 
taught  us  when  we  get  our  first  schooling. 

Unquestionably,  much  more  can  be  taught  about  mathe- 
matics than  the  elementary  things  of  addition,  subtraction, 
multiplication  and  division.  The  student  is  not  left  to  his 
own  resources  to  discover  square  root  and  the  bi-nomial 
theorem.  If  the  higher  mathematics  of  playwriting  cannot 
be  taught,  it  can  only  be  because  there  are  no  higher  mathe- 
matics. If  the  art  of  playwriting  consists  only  in  a  few  ru- 
diments, then  it  differs  from  any  other  art,  and  is  a  poor 
thing  indeed.  The  great  trouble,  for  the  present,  is  to  con- 
vince people  that  playwriting  is  really  a  complicated  art, 
and  that  something  more,  much  more,  is  to  be  known  about 


THB   CONDESCENDING    FAI^I^CY  4Q9__ 

it  than  the  a,  b,  c's  of  it.  Of  course,  there  may  be  kinder- 
gartens for  any  art,  but  instruction  in  it  need  not  be  confin- 
ed to  the  rudiments,  although  it  necessarily  begins  with 
the  a,  b,  c's. 

Every  art  should  be  taught  in  its  completeness  if  it  be  an 
art  and  if  the  institution  teaching  it  is  worthy  of  existence. 
Art  or  Technique  is  simply  the  way  of  doing  things,  and 
this  applies  to  a  trade  or  craft  or  anything  that  is  worth  do- 
ing or  which  affords  a  livelihood  or  the  accomplishment  of 
aims  that  are  in  no  wise  sordid.  It  is  a  practical  thing,  and 
a  practical  thing  will  hear  to  no  nonsense  such  as  is  uttered 
in  regard  to  the  ^'rudiments"  of  playwriting. 

If  one  attempts  a  career  of  electrical  engineering  as  an 
expert,  will  he  be  satisfied  with  some  elementary  informa- 
tion about  the  Ley  den  jar,  conductors  and  non-conductors, 
the  positive  and  negative  pole  and  such  elementary  infor- 
mation as  is  possessed  by  any  person  of  general  education  ? 
If  his  aim  is  practical  and  he  wishes  to  exercise  an  art  he 
wants  the  whole  thing  if  he  can  get  it,  and  he  can  always 
get  everything  that  is  known  of  any  art  according  to  its 
state  of  advancement.  Fifty  years  ago  there  was  no  career 
open  to  the  electrical  engineer,  for  the  art  had  not  advanced 
far  enough  to  require  the  services  of  a  practical  expert. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  an  artist  possessing  secret  laws  of 
any  art,  which,  moreover,  he  could  not  impart  to  any  one 
else  if  he  wanted  to  or  tried  to. 

What  stupidity,  what  futility,  it  would  be  if  surveying 
were  taught  in  the  schools  in  such  a  way  that  one  could 
not  survey  land  and  accomplish  the  practical  requirements? 
The  world  would  stand  still  if  only  the  rudiments  of  any  art 
could  be  taught. 

If  playwriting  could  be  taught  only  as  to  its  rudiments, 
then  beyond  that  point  every  playwright  has  a  complicated 
art  of  his  own  which  cannot  be  reduced  to  terms  and  which, 
in  the  very  nature  of  the  case,  must  be  different  from  the  art 
of  every  other  playwright  that  exists  or  ever  has  existed  or 
ever  will  exist,  for  no  two  men  are  alike ;  but  that  is  not  true 


4IO  ANALYSIS  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

as  to  art.  Its  principles  are  exactly  the  same,  exercised  by 
whom  you  will.  A  scene  written  by  any  dramatist,  known 
or  unknown,  of  repute  or  of  no  repute,  if  technically  perfect 
and  if  it  is  all  that  the  material  and  the  conditions  require 
is  as  good  as  if  Shakspeare  had  written  it.  It  is  as  much 
art,  for  there  can  be  but  one  art  applied  to  that  particular 
purpose.  The  writer  who  does  not  understand  these  princi- 
ples, it  matters  not  what  his  genius  may  be,  is  not  a  dra- 
matist. A  play  is  good  or  bad,  effective  or  ineffective,  in 
proportion  as  it  conforms  to  the  one  universal  art. 

It  has  been  like  preaching  in  the  wilderness  to  overcome 
the  soul  destroying  dictum  of  such  dramatists  as  contend 
that  playwriting  cannot  be  taught  and  therefore  is  not  an 
art.  Many  playwrights  would  like  to  have  you  believe  that 
they  did  not  have  to  learn  the  art.  Ibsen  learned  his  art. 
In  principle  it  does  not  differ  in  the  slightest  degree  from 
the  universal  art.  His  very  freedom  from  conventionality 
shows  that  he  is  a  master  of  the  art,  for  if  he  had  not  been 
a  master  of  it  he  would  have  been  conventional.  Shaw 
learned  the  art  and  rejected  the  conventionalities.  Do  you, 
for  a  moment,  imagine  that  neither  of  these  men  read  Aris- 
totle or  that  they  pursued  no  investigation  of  the  art  as  an 
art?  ,Has  either  of  them  ever  pretended  that  he  did  not 
learn  the  art  ?  Has  either  of  them  ever  said  that  it  was  born 
in  them  and  that  they  knew  things  in  the  art  which  could 
not  be  communicated  to  any  one  else?  Does  the  individual- 
ity of  Shaw  as  seen  in  his  plays  mean  that  his  art  is  differ- 
ent in  principle  from  that  of  Shakspeare  or  Sophocles  or  of 
any  other  thorough  dramatist?  The  fact  of  individuality  in 
these  writers  is  simply  proof  that  this  universal  art  does  not 
destroy  individuality.  Could  they  have  written  their  plays 
with  only  an  understanding  of  the  rudiments  ? 

There  is  no  art  in  the  world  which  cannot  be  taught  to 
you  in  its  fullness  according  to  your  capacity  for  receiving 
it.  If  you  have  that  capacity  for  receiving  what  is  taught  to 
you  and  if  you  have  a  teacher  who  means  to  give  you  all 
that  he  knows,  and  if  that  teacher  sees  great  qualities  in  you 


THB   CONX>^SCENDING    FALLACY  4II 

and  foresees  your  future,  will  he  not  gladly  give  to  you 
without  reserve?  It  is  simply  a  question  of  whether  you 
are  worth  the  while.  Some  of  the  greatest  painters  and  mu- 
sicians and  artists  in  the  world  have  been  teachers,  but  few 
have  ever  finally  been  unable  to  say  to  some  pupil,  with  af- 
fection and  admiration:  "I  can  teach  you  no  more.  Fare- 
well and  God  speed  you."  Would  such  teachers  have  con- 
descended to  teach  only  the  rudiments? 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


SYSTEMATIC  STUDY. 

Time  is  an  essential  element  in  the  learning  of  anything 
of  magnitude,  of  detail,  and  of  consequence.  Expedition  in 
the  work  is  desirable  in  so  far  as  it  is  consistent  with  thor- 
oughness, and  thoroughness  requires  that  we  Make  Haste 
Slowly.  The  foundation  should  be  solidly  laid  and  be  per- 
mitted to  settle.  There  is  always  a  method  of  instruction 
which  finally  proves  to  be  indispensable  and  the  best.  It  is 
easy  enough  to  begin  at  the  wrong  end.  Practical  creative 
work  should  be  reached  as  soon  as  possible,  but  it  is  a  waste 
of  time  to  attempt  it  before  one  has  an  understanding  of  the 
principles  and  their  intercommunicability.  I  am  often  in- 
clined to  think  there  is  something  wrong  with  the  moral 
character  of  one  who  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  make  a 
systematic  study  of  an  art  which  he  wishes  to  acquire  and 
who,  in  his  perversity,  will  submit  to  no  guidance  or  re- 
straint. It  is  important  that  the  study  be  made  as  interest- 
ing as  possible,  beginning  with  the  simple  before  reaching 
the  complex.  Interest  in  the  work  depends  absolutely  upon 
an  understanding  of  the  principles  as  they  are  encountered. 
One  takes  no  interest  in  a  game  that  he  does  not  under- 
stand. This  period  of  learning  the  nature  of  Principle  is  a 
necessary  preparation  for  actual  playwriting.  The  prelimi- 
nary work  required  is  in  effect  playwriting  itself,  for  the 
same  processes  of  thought  are  employed.  During  this  pe- 
riod there  should  be  no  interruption  in  the  study.  One 
should  let  it  take  hold  of  him  like  a  fever  that  runs  its  course. 
One  should  saturate  himself  with  the  intelligent  analytical 
reading  of  plays.  In  every  education  a  point  is  reached  where 
one  can  abandon  his  research  and  can  proceed  with  confi- 
dence in  applying  what  he  has  mastered  in  theory.  It 
would  be  a  mistake,  however,  to  believe  that  any  form  of 
this  preliminary  exercise  work  is  mere  theory.    Playwriting 


SYSTEMATIC    STUDY  413 

is  practical  or  nothing.  The  student  who  simply  reads 
through  a  chapter  of  a  text  book  and  tosses  it  aside  with  the 
idea  and  the  remark  that  he  thoroughly  understands  it  does 
not  impress  me.  He  should  be  eager  to  demonstrate  to 
himself  that  he  understands  it  and  the  best  way  to  do  that 
is  to  do  an  amount  of  work  corresponding  to  that  in  the 
text  book  and  to  submit  it  to  the  expert  who  has  no  defer- 
ence to  the  individual  except  in  so  far  as  the  student  gains 
that  deference  by  a  complete  submission  to  the  art.  Play- 
writing  itself  has  its  compensation  for  the  labor  bestowed 
on  it  only  for  those  who  understand  the  art.  Nor  is  there 
any  pleasure  or  compensation  for  the  student  who  does  not 
know  every  foot  of  the  ground  that  he  traverses.  Other- 
wise the  study  is  not  exhilarating,  but  painful.  The  amount 
of  one's  wbrk  is  in  proportion  to  the  interest  he  takes  in  it 
and  the  benefit  to  be  derived  is  in  proportion  to  the  labor. 
If  you  take  the  trouble  to  understand  as  you  proceed  the 
work  becomes  fascinating.  There  is  a  very  great  difference 
in  the  feeling  of  knowing  that  you  understand  a  thing  and 
of  believing  you  do,  with  or  without  misgivings.  When 
you  really  understand  a  thing,  you  know  you  know  it.  It 
is  the  difference  between  the  amateur  and  the  skilled.  As- 
suming that  you  think  you  know  it,  in  a  hasty,  superficial 
and  unjustified  self-confidence,  you  may  have  a  humiliating 
awakening  later  on  to  a  realization  of  having  spent  an  in- 
definite time  in  ignorance  of  what  you  might  have  learned 
without  delay.  By  making  sure  that  you  understand,  as 
you  proceed,  your  work  becomes  easier  and  easier.  A  dis- 
tinct advantage  of  exercise  work  also  is  that  you  can  better 
your  instruction  by  taking  that  initiative  which  is  required 
in  discovering  these  principles  in  plays  that  are  not  ana- 
lyzed in  the  text.  By  finding  an  example  or  illustration  of 
your  own  you  possess  yourself  of  the  principle  by  your  own 
labor  and  research.  I  can  only  give  you  the  principle  and 
explain  it  in  its  various  aspects,  but  for  me  to  attempt  to 
exhaust  illustration  would  be  an  impossible  task.  As  much 
as  I  may  do,  there  is  infinitely  more  that  is  left  for  you  to 


414  ANALYSIS  O^  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE 

do.  If  each  principle  had  to  be  illustrated  from  every  play- 
that  was  ever  written  there  would  be  no  end  to  it.  It  is  the 
principle  we  are  after,  and  that  is  enough.  When  you  are 
absolutely  satisfied  that  you  understand  it,  then  sustained 
systematic  work  has  reached  its  period.  By  continuing 
your  study,  of  your  own  initiative,  according  to  the  system 
laid  down,  the  very  illustrations  that  you  will  find  of  your- 
self will  be  new,  and  this  newness  will  help  to  sustain  your 
interest.  You  may  have  the  foolish  idea  that  work  of  the 
kind  is  like  "going  to  School,"  again.  The  people  who  do 
things  in  this  world  are  never  out  of  school.  Do  not  be- 
come impatient  at  going  over  the  same  ground  a  number  of 
times.  To  him  who  understands  there  is  constant  variety 
and  newness  of  interest.  The  deeper  you  go  the  more  inter- 
ested you  will  become.  The  more  facile  and  correct  your 
work  the  greater  the  gratification  to  you.  You  will  note 
your  gradual  acquirement  of  thinking  in  drama.  A  dra- 
matic study  requires  that  you  become  acquainted  first  with 
each  principle  singly  and  then  in  combination  with  other 
principles.  When  you  have  them  firmly  fixed  in  mind  and 
come  to  apply  them  to  original  work  you  will  not  be  dis- 
turbed as  to  uncertainty  as  to  meaning  and  application.  It 
is  often  difficult  to  make  a  completely  satisfactory  applica- 
tion of  a  given  principle,  it  matters  not  how  well  you  under- 
stand it.  Until  you  do  understand  it  you  cannot  use  it 
as  a  tool,  and  you  have  no  right  to  have  the  tool  in  your 
hand  until  you  fully  understand  its  use.  This  preliminary 
study  wins  half  the  battle.  Why  wait  to  have  yourself 
committing  in  your  own  plays  every  mistake  which  you 
would  have  guarded  against  by  following  the  systematic 
study?  Play  writing  requires  the  patient  process  of  thought. 
This  very  work  over  the  exercises  will  give  you  that  pa- 
tience of  thought,  and  it  will  be  fruitful  if  you  have  plowed 
deep  and  turned  up  the  sub-soil.  You  want  to  get  under 
the  surface.  It  is  not  enough  that  you  discover  why  and 
how  the  principles  are  rightly  applied;  you  must  discern 
how  and  why  they  might  have  been  misapplied  by  the  writ- 


SYSTEMATIC   STUDY  415 

«rs  of  the  plays  which  you  analyze.  Even  an  inexperienced 
writer  might  have  in  his  manuscript  of  a  play  many  exam- 
ples of  a  principle  and  yet  be  profoundly  ignorant  of  the 
principle  itself.  If  you  know  the  Hows  and  Whys  you  are 
the  superman.  We  are  studying  the  plays  written  by  dra- 
matists who  knew  what  they  were  doing.  They  had  a  rea- 
son for  everything.  They  were  exercising  their  art  all  the 
while.  It  matters  not  how  easily  and  naturally  they  exer- 
cised it,  they  always  did  it  with  intelligence.  Try  to  follow 
the  processes  of  their  minds  and  get  at  all  their  reasons, 
and  imagine  all  their  difficulties,  for  they  had  many  difficul- 
ties. It  is  important  for  you  to  learn  why  it  takes  time  to 
ivrite  a  play. 


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